


Angel in a Black Suit

by iseoks



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, Homophobia, Lawyer Newt Scamander, Lawyer/Student AU, M/M, Mentions/Descriptions of Child Abuse, Physical Abuse, Slow Burn, Soft Dom!Newt, Student Credence Barebone, also he's a little bit of a sugar daddy but like not in the typical way
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-04 16:23:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13368567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iseoks/pseuds/iseoks
Summary: After eighteen long years of suffering, Credence Barebone decides he's had enough of his adoptive mother's cruel treatment. By working himself to the ground between his two jobs, he's managed to scrape together enough to buy himself an apartment and attend University on an academic scholarship - however, he knows he can only stay afloat this way for so long. Thus, he enlists Newt Scamander, one of New York's finest attorneys, to help him pry his birth mother's inheritance from Mary Lou's possession.Along the way, Newt discovers just why the woman is holding out on her son, and takes on a determination not only to win Credence's rightful property from her in a game of legal chess, but to put her behind bars, where she truly belongs; and if there's one lesson Newt's learned in his time as a lawyer, it's that he can never truly know what will come out of a case. Needless to say, he hadn't been expecting this one to change his life so drastically - but he can't seem to stop his concern for Credence's well-being from evolving into something much, much more.Credence, meanwhile, has fallen for his lawyer before he even realizes it.





	1. Prologue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic was literally the brainchild of me whining through one of my spontaneous bouts of writer's block and [i love my lawyer by ofelia k](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PkKutmVDPAI). anyways, i'd been dying to write a detailed fic of these two nerds falling in love, and i don't see a lot of lawyer aus these days, so, here it is. 
> 
>  
> 
> also, keep in mind i'm not a lawyer nor have i ever planned to be one so there may be some mistakes or inconsistencies with how things work in the legal system. i've done a lot of research but i'm not foolproof!!

The bustling life circulating through the veins of the Manhattan subway station does very little to calm his nerves. Nameless faces pass quickly by, bodies accidentally slamming against him at varying forces while less than half of them utter some form of an apology. He knows better than to expect any more than that, of course, having lived here his entire life. People don’t apologize when they have something better to do.

Late August brings a gust of torrid air, to the degree that the young man nearly chokes on it. A nervous tongue attempts to liven his lips with moisture as, finally, he locates the concrete staircase pointed up to the surface world, and slips his slender body through any opening wide enough to accomodate it, murmuring surprisingly meaningful sorrows along the way. His first day of a higher education lies ahead of him, and he’s wrapped up in anxiety more than excitement - but such is just a flaw of his character, as natural to him as breathing. Besides, given the events of the past summer in particular, this newfound independence is frightening; albeit nowhere near as much as his old life had been. Even if he can only take baby steps of progress, he’s learned it’s better than nothing at all. Anything is better than living with Mary Lou.

Swept away from the real world by the current of his thoughts, the young adult yelps, startled as his body collides with another person’s. Before he even sees a face, he’s spewing apologies - verbally condemning himself for not being more observant. Eyes of a warm and dark pigment then rise to reflect off the widened and much cooler, lighter hues belonging to the man he’d nearly knocked over. Alarmed by the stranger’s bright smile, the student rushes to help him gather the few sheets of paper that had slipped from his grasp upon contact, glad for the momentary distraction from such a bizarre response to having personal space so abruptly compromised.

The smiling stranger tells him not to worry, his foreign accent carrying the words like silk forming along a busy spindle. Noticing he’s staring, the younger man clears his throat and awkwardly holds out the unintentionally discarded files, before brushing past the face made of sunshine and bolting up the stairs, trying to ignore how hot his face feels.

Midmorning light welcomes him to the world above the subway, even busier and more crowded than its underground counterpart. Exhaling, the raven-haired boy finds some shred of comfort in being able to disappear in the crowd, with none too many eyes focused on his every move. People are so caught up in their own lives, so centered on their own duties, that he can be, to them, whoever they want him to be in a matter of seconds. No one thinks about how every person in this city has a name, a life, an existence. Credence is eerily comfortable, not having any of those things.

Though his comfort and his happiness are too often existent in differing realms.


	2. Chapter One.

Summer is gone. The last slivers of warm sunlight are suffocated by snow-bearing clouds, and the sun rises unreasonably late and sets unreasonably early. Newt had always hated winter - though he’d known after summer and autumn had appeared to join forces in an unlikely extension of the warm and sunny days, the cost would present itself in an abrupt and unwanted shift of climate. Both fortunately and unfortunately, he spends most of his life working in the confines of an office, thus, the elements tend not to bother nor delight him aside from whatever landscape lies beyond the glass pane at the rear of his desk.

Days had been so much simpler when he was younger. His mother struggled to keep him from going outside - not that she ever tried too hard, but still she and his father were led to be very strict with curfew. For if they weren’t, Newt and his brother Theseus would roam the Earth uninhibited, naive to whatever dangers may snatch them by the heel upon any apparent chance. They were outdoorsmen, lovers of life and nature and the creatures wrapped up in it - the last place someone like Newton Scamander belonged was between four walls, filing papers and begrudgingly answering phone calls.

Yet, here he is.

Not that he doesn’t care about his job. Newt had never been a _careless_ person - carefree, yes, at his very highest mood - but not careless to any degree. He understood the moment he and his brother moved from London to New York that their dreams would have to stay dreams as there was no point in trying to tailor them to a vision that just didn’t fit. After the death of their mother, their passions quelled. Everything having to do with animals and nature and exploration just hurt too much, and they were entering a point of their lives so crucial that it wasn’t wise to wait for that desire to come back. They had to act or else they’d be struggling for the rest of their lives. Maybe then, it was tunnel vision. But Newt is not poor, now - he can afford to give generously to people who are, and to organizations that offer animals the care he wished he could. And for that much, he is thankful.

A chirping sound makes itself melodiously known behind his office door, and the large glass windows providing him a panoramic view of the firm show him, to no surprise, that this is not a bird. It is, however, his secretary - Miss Queenie Goldstein - brightening the monochromatic and polished scheme of the building with her attire of soft pinks and dark accents. Her blonde curls bounce with as much liveliness as is contained by her vivacious step, and the woman shamelessly slams his office door open, carrying in her dainty hands a box too-full of files.

“These ‘re from Theseus,” she hums, placing them down on his desk, and Newt lets his pen drop from his grasp the moment she starts speaking, “said the evidence office accidentally sent ‘em his way instead ‘a yours. Which ‘s just silly, when you think about it - maybe in her rush, Teenie just wrote ‘Scamander’ on the box an’ the oldest always gets first pick.” The woman seems to huff, “Trust me, I know.”

The smallest half-smile forms between Newt’s lips, and Queenie knows him well enough to notice it. They met years ago, when Newt and his brother brought their trade across the sea to start a business, and make a name for himself. Queenie had been finishing up college at the time with a Bachelor’s in communications, but she didn’t seem very eager to go out into the world, looking for a job. Not that she’s lazy - in fact, Queenie is one of the hardest-working people Newt knows, along with her older sister, Tina - whom he’d also met at the time.

Tina, however, had already finished graduate school and was well on her way to becoming a civil investigator. With her tendency to nitpick everything, as Newt would soon discover, he couldn’t imagine a job more suited for her. She’s a solemn and clean-cut woman, but she knows how - and more importantly, _when_ \- to have fun.

Queenie certainly excels at the former, but has no concept of the latter; which in her case, is no shred of a bad thing. She can make anything fun - find entertainment in the smallest of aspects of what others may perceive as a humdrum existence. Theseus had always jokingly told Newt that Queenie Goldstein could find a needle in a haystack with no problem.

Newt told him he thinks she could find two.

The Goldstein sisters are an interesting pair, and one Newt is inexpressibly grateful for befriending. The migration from London to New York was horrendous and lonely, though he is an introvert to the highest degree, and though he had his brother by his side. Still, the isolating task of moving to a new country in itself, let _alone_ getting a _firm_ set up, had taken a hard toll on him. He didn’t show it, of course: Newt’s become frighteningly good at disguising his emotions, namely his suffering, for the sole point that he feels awkward with the pity or sorrow of others. Even his own mother had a hard time comforting him, when she was alive. His father couldn’t even hope to do so, given that they haven’t talked since Newt had moved from the UK, and even scarcely had they said anything past awkward hellos and goodbyes, then.

“What are these for? Did Theseus tell you? I can tell he’s looked through them,” says Newt, green eyes scanning the tops of the labeled files and seeing the freshly bent corners, exposing his brother’s snooping. Queenie’s shrug gives him all the answer he needs, until her lips part to offer a nugget more.

“Apparently they have to do with a case you picked up recently, that boy that’s suing his foster mom, ‘r somethin’.”

Newt’s eyes widen as he looks up at Queenie, and he licks his lips. Ms. Barebone’s behaviour might have been at least understandable, if she was just a foster. “ _All_ of this is for that? This soon?”

“Why’s it such a surprise?” Asks Queenie, sitting on the only bare edge of Newt’s desk.

“The boy called me less than a month ago,” he says, “It’s just shocking your sister managed to dig up this much in such a short time. I wonder how much of it is actually usable for the case …”

“Wish I knew, Honey,” Queenie murmurs, leaning over to peek into the box. Papers, papers, and more papers. “This isn’t gonna end up scattered all over this pigsty you call an office, is it? If that boy’s suin’ his own momma, it’s gotta be serious.”

Newt’s head cants left and right as he examines his office. He wouldn’t call it a _pigsty_ himself, but it could use some spring cleaning. Luckily for him, spring is a whole season away. “I can find anything I need to, in here. Don’t worry about that. And yes, from what I understand, it is a rather dire situation. It’ll probably take months to sort out, unfortunately.”

Just as the woman is about to ask him more, Newt’s cell phone buzzes atop his desk calendar. Blinking with wonder toward who would try to contact him, knowing he’s working, he’s less surprised to see it’s Tina.

“Hey,” she starts, not even waiting for him to say ‘Hello?’ when the ringing stops, “I just found more on this case of yours.”

“More?” Newt’s nose scrunches, “I’ve just received what you sent in today.”

“Just now?” Tina asks, and she sounds annoyed, “I sent it in at eight this morning. It’s almost one in the afternoon, how are you just seeing it _now_?”

Newt stands, turning to glance out the window behind his desk. “They ended up on Theseus’ desk, and I suppose he’s only just noticed they’ve got nothing to do with him. How did you manage to find so much on this boy, I meant to ask?”

The annoyance is gone from Tina’s voice, and instead a dry chuckle tumbles through her breath, “There’s a surprising amount of information on Credence and his utterly _insane_ mother - stuff she’s even kept from him, apparently. Which isn’t totally shocking, considering the nature of this case. A lot of it’s just background stuff I thought you should look at. But a copy of his birth mother’s will is there, and it’s pretty shocking how impossible to argue with it, it is. This case will probably go by a lot quicker than you’re expecting.”

“I wouldn’t count on that,” says Newt, sighing, “Every time I get to thinking that myself, I’m wrong. I don’t mind spending time on a case, of course; I’m not as impatient as my brother.”

“I’ve figured that out,” Tina responds, her smile near audible in her voice, “I’d suggest you meet with him in person sometime after you’ve gone through all that stuff, just to make sure you’re on the same page. You’ve talked with him since he hired you, right?”

“Er,” Newt falters, and Tina can already tell the answer is no, “not exactly. He hasn’t called and we hadn’t scheduled a talk, since then.”

“Oh, Newton,” though he can’t see her, Newt can tell by the way she speaks that she’s rolling her eyes. Surprisingly, she doesn’t chide past that. “The next time you speak with him ought to be in person, then. I know it’s a lot, but try to get through all of those files as soon as you can. Maybe bypass the less relevant stuff for now,” she advises, and Newt’s distracted mind registers a faint tapping on the other line. It sounds like a pen against the surface of her desk.

“Yeah, I - yeah. good idea,” says Newt, turning to see that Queenie had slipped out of the office at some point during the conversation, and sitting back in his chair. “What’s today - Wednesday? I’ll probably be able to see him by the end of the week. If he’s available, of course.”

There’s a moment of silence on the other line; Tina’s breathing is just about the only sound. The tapping has stopped suddenly. “Newt - You’re an amazing attorney, you know that, right?”

Surprised by the sudden compliment, Newt blinks. “‘Amazing’ might be a bit of a stretch, but I certainly give my best efforts.”

Tina’s voice carries some indistinguishable weight as next she speaks, “I’m just saying, I know the way you tick. It’s hard for you to befriend people, right? You’re a little … introverted. Closed-off. It wouldn’t kill you to try to form some kind of relationship with your clients, every now and then. Get a little closer to them, you know?”

As she is an extrovert, Newt is aware that Tina may not always understand _why_ he is the way he is - but he knows she is at least _aware_ of the way he is, and he trusts her words. The only problem is, it isn’t that simple. It never is. “I know what you mean,” he says after a moment, sketching a mindless doodle lazily on his calendar with his pen, “and I think you’re right.”

“Good luck, okay? This is a very wicked woman you’re going up against. She seems like she’s got something up her sleeve,” warns Tina, “just, be careful. This boy really needs you.”

Now, Newt can recognize the heaviness her voice bears. It’s compassion.

* * *

 Class had gone smoothly, that afternoon. Perhaps he’d taken a few notes too many, but he’d been notorious in high school for noting nearly every word out of the teacher’s mouth - not wanting to miss anything that held potential for him to be tested on. And it isn’t as though he can’t distinguish probability and importance of information, for he tends to go back while studying and highlight the things that appear most notable. It’s solely that, Credence Barebone is a paranoid young man. And given the events of his life up to this point, he has no reason not to be.

Leaving the hall in which his anatomy course is held, the young man tucks his books firmly between his arms and tight against his chest as he steps out into the cold. Snow has just started to fall, the delicate flakes seemingly fond of his ebony fringe as many of them have settled there. Mouth shrouded by his scarf, Credence’s breath warms the fabric and therefore his face, though his ears are unpleasantly exposed to the elements. He only has a morning class and an afternoon class on Wednesdays, thus his scholarly obligations for the day have concluded - and as he spends most of his free time, he’ll most likely go back to his apartment and read until he’d better get ready for work in the evening.

The commute is roughly twenty minutes by foot, and while it isn’t so unbearable, Credence knows it would be in his own best interests to learn to drive at some point - or at least find a friend that wouldn’t mind playing his chauffeur when they had the time. Nothing much is hindering him from testing for his license - aside from his crippling anxiety, of course. Sometimes he could barely even handle the passenger’s seat, as essentially all the art of driving consists of is maneuvering a five-ton death machine on wheels.

Nevertheless, he makes it back to his apartment building just after two forty-five, and just as he’s stomping the snow from his boots on the mat placed before the front entrance, his phone vibrates rather aggressively in his back pocket. Jumping, Credence draws the device from his pocket and checks the Caller ID, tucking his green and silver scarf beneath his chin. He doesn’t recognize the number, and though he’d usually just ignore it and let them leave a voicemail if they were someone important, he gets the feeling he should answer this time. Given the legal battlefield he’s entered in the last month, perhaps it’s someone who actually _does_ need to talk to him.

“Hello?” Credence answers, proud of himself for not stammering. He steps into the elevator and pushes for his floor, relieved when no one else attempts to run in and join him as the doors slide closed.

“Credence?” The voice sounds so familiar, with how the words are spoken in a strong English accent, and it only takes the boy a few moments to recognize the caller is, indeed, his lawyer. Perplexed, the boy swears he’d saved the number in his phone.

“Ah, y-yes,” he mumbles, “Mr. Scamander, it’s me.”

“Sorry to call you on a short notice,” says the attorney, “by the way, this is my, uh - personal number.”

“Oh,” Credence is blushing. He doesn’t know why, but he is. “Would you like me to save it? Or is this a special occasion, or-”

“You ought to save it,” Newt tells him, unintentionally interrupting the young man, “with how often I tend to spontaneously remember important things while away from my office phone.”

“Right,” Credence says, as if he’s known Newt his whole life, “So, th-this is the number I should use to contact you, Mr. Scamander?”

“That would be best,” the man tells him while silently cringing at the courtesy title, having noticed it this time, “and please, call me Newt.”

Pausing and attempting to swallow the tightness in his throat, the dark-haired boy nods - though he quickly realizes that Newt cannot see him. “Newt,” he echoes, as though he tests the way the name sounds on his tongue - unused to such informality with other people, especially those older and more experienced.

“Yes. That aside, I called you to see when it would be possible for us to have a consultation, at my office. There are quite a few things I need to discuss with you in person.”

Exiting the elevator, Credence fishes his keys out of his coat pocket and unlocks the door to his simple apartment, phone tucked between his chin and shoulder. “Ah - really? Well, Mr. Sc- N- _Newt_ , I can meet with you pretty much any day … it just depends on the time. Friday or Saturday evening would probably be best, since all I have those days is work, in the morning and afternoon.” He doesn’t even think about bringing up Sunday, since he’s sure Newt would prefer to have that day to himself.

A pensive hum filters through the other line, and Credence sets his laptop bag down and removes his scarf while he waits for feedback. It only takes a few seconds, and the sound of a few papers shuffling back and forth, before Newt is speaking, again. “Friday evening, then. Five- or six-o’clock? Does that work for you?”

Sitting delicately atop his bed, Credence nods once more, to his own immediate embarrassment. “Y-Yes, that’s perfect. I get off work at four-thirty, so I can be there by five-fifteen, I’m pretty sure.”

Newt smiles, and somehow Credence can tell by the way he talks. His cheeks are blazing.

“Brilliant. Take your time, I’ll be expecting you at five-thirty.”  

“Okay,” complies Credence, somewhat bashfully. He curses the way his face is so warm. “I’ll see you then, Newt.”

“Indeed. Have a good evening, Credence.”

“Thank you, sir, you t-too.”

The call ends on Newt’s accord and after saving the number to his phone under ‘Newt’ (he had almost typed ‘Mr. Scamander’, unsurprisingly) Credence falls back onto his mattress, covering his eyes with the heels of his hands. “God, what’s wrong with me?” He whispers to himself, soon thereafter pursing his lips. It’s definitely not unusual for Credence to be shy, but for a reason unbeknownst to him, talking to his attorney amplifies his already timid demeanor. The student can only hope his face doesn’t glow brighter than the Christmas tree the other man is likely to keep at the firm during this season. Huffing, the raven-haired boy turns on his side and curls up, stuffing his face in his pillow. “He probably thinks I’m so stupid.”

Not that it would differ so drastically from what most others think of him.

* * *

The remaining two days of the week inched by in a lifeless haze. Credence had no classes on Fridays, nor during the following weekend - but his work schedule was hectic enough for that fact to be nothing worth excitement. Not that he _hates_ his jobs - he’s actually rather fond of his post as a daycare assistant at the YMCA. Oftentimes, it’s the highlight of his week, aside from those rare treasures of time he gets to relax alone in his apartment and recharge with a book or movie or good music. Despite his diffidence, Credence loves to work with the children on Friday and Saturday mornings - they were the kindest, most joyful, and least judgmental souls on the entire earth in their eagerness to share their lives in their simplest and purest states. Perhaps it, in part, relates to his unhappy childhood, but being able to be part of a little one’s happiness gives him an indescribable sense of fulfillment.

If only he could do _that_   with his life.

Credence is sprinting out of the YMCA at four forty-five, having been tied up after some of the daycare teachers had asked him to stay back and help clean up. Had he just explained he had a meeting, they most likely would have let him go - but the kids really _had_ made quite a mess that day, and he felt bad leaving the others to take care of it themselves.

He wanted to at least be able to change clothes before meeting with Newt, but he won’t be able to accomplish that _and_ make it to the firm on time. The very last thing he wants is for the older man to think him irresponsible enough to be late to their first meeting - or any that will follow, for the matter. It occurs to Credence, then, that he hadn’t really thought much about Newt since that phone conversation two days prior - his mind had been so wrapped up in his own tasks that there hadn’t been permeable space for much else. He’d picked up a shift at the restaurant Thursday night, knowing he could use the extra money, but he’d nearly worked himself to death in result.

That schoolboyish shyness comes back with a vengeance, and Credence finds himself sighing as he boards the subway. He hadn’t even _met_ the man yet - though of course, he’d seen his picture online, and it paired nicely with his mellow and kind voice. But meeting someone in person is far different from seeing photos of them, or talking with them over the phone. He finds himself wondering how tall Newt is - what colour his eyes are, for surely the pictures on his web-page hadn’t emphasized them enough for him to be able to tell with a certain clarity. Obviously enough, they weren’t exactly meant to be glamour shots.

Snapped out of his thoughts, he registers a gentle tapping on his shoulder. Flinching, Credence eyes the woman beside him with wide, curious eyes - prior to her offering him a small bottle of water.

“Your face is really red,” she tells him. “Are you okay?”

Credence’s heart flies up to his throat and he nods his head eagerly, hesitantly accepting the water only after the woman insists, and sinking low into the seat an older gentleman had offered him, perhaps in thinking he’d faint. Coincidentally, their actions only deepen the colour in his face, as it’s hardly bred from sickness - but embarrassment. And, admittedly, something else he can’t quite put his finger on.   


Five-thirty steadily approaches, and Newt leans back in his office chair, with eyes oscillating about his office. Perhaps he should tidy up just a _little_ , for Theseus had always chided him about how important presentation is when meeting a client. The clutter about the room - books, boxes of files, and miscellaneous office supplies - does look rather studious, however; though perhaps Newt simply tells himself this because he realizes how little time he actually has to do something about it. Nevertheless, he does start to clear his desk, leaving only a manila folder full of documents he intends to go over with Credence today.

Anxiously quick footsteps echo over the monotonous buzz of the firm, and Queenie’s bright eyes flicker above the women’s catalogue her nose had been buried in. She sees him, then - the thin, dark-haired boy that comes skittishly into view, with a faint freshness to his cheeks as he appears to check the sign by every door. Tucking her magazine safely away, she gets a hunch that this must be the boy Newt is expecting. With all she’s heard about him, it fits all too well - and her intuition is never wrong.

“Well hey there, Honey,” she greets with a warm smile, and the boy appears alarmed with such a show of kindness. It doesn’t faze Queenie much as she talks on, “What’re you lookin’ for?”

“I … I had a five-thirty appointment with Mr. Scamander. Ah - Newt.” He adds the final piece of information upon realizing that there are indeed two Mr. Scamanders that work here, and the blonde woman at the desk seems to understand that, as she starts giggling good-humoredly.

“Ah, so you’re Credence,” she observes, eyes appearing to study every inch of him. The boy falters under the curious scrutiny, and an awkward silence carries on for a few beats before the female bursts out of her chair and her heels carry her to the door of what Credence assumes is Newt’s office. Though not much is left to the imagination, as the blinds to his office windows are opened and Credence can see him now, focused on the laptop before him.

“Newt!” Queenie calls, knocking - visibly shocking the man out of his near meditative state, “Credence is here!”

Blinking, Newt eyes his watch and notes that it’s five forty-three. Licking his lips, he calls from behind the door, “Let him in!”

Smiling, Queenie turns back to Credence, whose face is riddled with surprise and confusion. “He’s ready for you, Honey,” she informs the boy, despite it being virtually impossible for him to not have heard that exchange.

“A-Aah, right. Thank you, Miss.” He bows his head toward her and hurries toward the door, shyly drawing it open.

Queenie’s smile remains as she watches the timid student, even as she relocates and reopens her catalogue.

“Mr. Scamander?” Credence breathes, remaining at the threshold as though he were a vampire, required to be invited inside before he could so much as think of entering. The attorney sits comfortably behind his desk, legs crossed one over the other as he looks on out the window, that is, until Credence’s voice calls for his attention. When their eyes meet, Credence feels like he’s been struck by lightning.

They’re green.

“Credence,” Newt greets casually, a welcoming smile placed delicately above his chin, “come in, come in. We have a lot to talk about.”

“I’m sorry for being late, sir,” Credence blurts, avoiding eye contact to will his cheeks not to heat up. _Why are you acting like this?_ “I-I got caught up at work, and -”

“It’s okay,” Newt assures, purposely interrupting the boy this time around, “I understand. It’s just a few minutes, Credence - really, it’s okay. Come on, sit down. We’ve got to get started, don’t we?”

Guilt is still written across his face in bold script, but he does look slightly less anxious with that comforting tone. Nodding, he approaches the desk as though there’s a bomb hidden somewhere within it, and soundlessly sits in one of the armchairs angled in front of it.

Surprisingly, Newt’s smile hasn’t melted away within seconds like it normally does. He’s considerably amused - and also charmed - by this young man that’s stepped into his office. He takes the opportunity to look at him - and notices he appears slightly different than the photos contained by the files Tina had sent him. It has to be his hair - in those photos, it was cropped in a high bowl-cut and cropped close to his skin, but it’s apparent now that the boy has grown it out so that it looks thick and lively around his scalp. It’s still longer on the top and cut close at the back and sides, but it’s a much more attractive haircut than what the photos displayed. The biggest difference of all is that his straight fringe is far more wispy, and natural-looking.

Come to think of it, with his sharp jawline and glittery eyes … Credence really is quite a handsome young man.

Clearing his throat, Newt does his best to bury those thoughts and get down to business. “Alright, so - let’s begin, shall we? It’s very nice to finally meet you in person, Credence. I’m well-honoured to represent you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, here's the first real chapter! i want this story to focus more on their emotional development rather than the actual legal stuff, but of course that's an important part of the story, lol. 
> 
> please review! xx


	3. Chapter Two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> read this chapter except take a shot every time credence blushes. 
> 
> (just kidding, i don't want you to die of alcohol poisoning.)

Credence had never been the most adaptable creature. Not that he’s stubborn or so satisfied with his life that change had become difficult - both of these possible explanations are perhaps as far away from the truth as conceptually possible. In actuality, the boy could be somewhat of a doormat to other people, and his existence lies on a plane so astronomically distant from any sense of perfection or satisfaction that, one may think, he would welcome change with bright, shining eyes and a mouthful of gratitude.

But it’s simply not the case. Perhaps his misery is so deeply ingrained in his being that it’s become all he knows. He can’t remember a time he was ever truly happy, aside from the moment he’d stepped out of Mary Lou’s house a free man. Any other instance of joy before that had been too closely connected to a more depressing narrative - a gladness that his mother had been slightly more lenient in his daily lashing, a relief that he’d made it home seconds before the clock read ten-thirty and he’d be tardy to his rationed curfew. Not to forget the way his heart sang when the Barebone matriarch had to leave for three days on a business venture, and Credence - aside from the day he’d left for good - had never felt so free. He still looks back on those three days and a shadow of a smile wanes across his face.

But with the past few weeks had surfaced a kind of positive constant he can’t quite grasp. He’d been meeting with Newt twice a week, four weeks so far, to go over the details of the case and to build their argument. The concept of suing someone, in itself, is something very unlike Credence - to take charge and hold someone accountable for a wrong they’d committed against him. It’s bold, it’s gallant - and though the student himself lacks these qualities in their splendor, he’d seen them in Newt in a way he’d never thought possible of a person. Every depiction of bravery and heroism he’d known had been the kind of obnoxiously masculine, impossibly fearless and unrealistically fortunate image that the world had donned in godlike grandeur and held to an untouchable expectation. But his attorney doesn’t at all fit the bill for all he’d been shown of brave and honourable men - he’s gentle, kind, patient and understanding. He listens and speaks honestly of what he feels and observes, and he seems to have no fear of admitting to his own flaws or feelings.

It’s refreshing. Credence quite likes it.

Credence quite likes Newt.

The spacious office settled with vitality in the firm had become more of a home than any place Credence had ever known. It had come to be a place he associated with liberation; he even gradually felt less and less afraid to voice his own opinions, under the exhilarating influence of Newt’s encouragement. All of the people he’d met there thus far seemed to be cut from a cloth entirely different than the rest of Manhattan - Queenie, the secretary woman, always seemed to be in high spirits, and always wished to generate a similar feeling in others. Jacob, her husband - and ironically enough, secretary to Newt’s older brother, almost always brought him homemade sweets to enjoy while he was there. Credence hadn’t wanted to take them at first - truthfully, he couldn’t even remember what sugar tasted like since Mary Lou forbade it vehemently, and only fed her children very bland and flavourless things on the occasion she decided to feed them at all. Once he was older, Credence himself had done most of the cooking, alongside his older sister Chastity, and with their efforts, meals improved in both quality and frequency. Still, it seemed, Mary Lou always had to chide them about something. But it feels nice to be free to eat whatever he wants - and Jacob’s baking is a little slice of heaven he felt unworthy to know.

He hadn’t yet met Newt’s brother, or Queenie’s sister, but he might as well have, all he’d heard of them. The elder Scamander’s office is on the other side of the building, where Credence hadn’t yet ventured, and the elder Goldstein - named Tina, he had learned - works in a separate office a few avenues away, nearer to the police station.

It was odd. Credence doesn’t easily make friends - he had convinced himself that he had been born with some kind of human-repellent in his blood, which caused others to avoid him, or never make it past empty salutations. But the people surrounding Newt, including Newt himself, appeared to be drawn to him.

Though there’s always the possibility that they’re only being kind, because they’re kind people. Because he’s Newt’s client. Credence figures Newt probably treats all of his clients this way, and for reasons uncertain, it makes him sad.

So sad, in fact, that the tug in his chest almost causes tears to prickle the corners of his eyes, on a restless Sunday evening.

* * *

Newt is unceremoniously shoving his house keys into his pocket, when he notices Queenie is staring at him from behind her desk. His head turns slightly away from her, and he eyes her from the lower corners of disconcerted green orbs.

There’s a knowing look on her face, one so playfully accusatory that Newt mentally scrolls through everything he’d done in the last forty-eight hours that she shouldn’t know about. The list is surprisingly small, and not enough to elicit this kind of behaviour, so he bites.

“... What?”

Sitting back in her chair, Queenie shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly and looks away from him, though her smile remains. “Oh, nothin’.”

Visually disatisfied with such an answer, Newt narrows his eyes and somehow raises an eyebrow at the same time. “I wouldn’t believe that if I was blind. Why are you looking at me like I’ve done something scandalous?”

Queenie says nothing. She just purses her lips for a moment, rocking subtly from side to side in her chair.

Just as Newt is about to sigh and give up, she spins in her seat and faces him ebulliently, nearly startling him. Their eyes lock and her lips open as though she’s about to speak the whereabouts of the Holy Grail.

“Credence is cute, isn’t he?”

Suddenly, his bowtie feels too tight. Newt blinks at her, this newfound suffocation stealing any words he might dare to say, wondering exactly _why_ she would ask him such a question. He clearly shouldn’t be talking nor thinking about such things - Credence is his _client_. Trying his best to bounce back and appear unfazed, Newt clears his throat and unlocks his office door, opening it. “Credence is a charming young man, yes.”

“Oh, Newton,” Queenie hops from her seat, sounding dangerously like her sister for a moment. She follows after her employer and friend, watching as he sets his briefcase down and begins to remove his coat, “You know that ain’t what I meant. He’s _cute_ , you know. He’s a cute boy!”

“I’m not sure I’m following you,” Newt lies, hopefully well enough to get the blonde to stop. All hope is in vain.

Exasperated, Queenie marches right up to his desk and sets her hands firmly on her hips. “ _You know._ He’s got sparkly eyes and a strong jawline. He’s the sweetest lil’ thing in the whole world and his skin is virtually flawless!”

“Oh, how observant of you.” Newt says, sitting down and distracting his mind with half-heartedly organizing his materials.

“You say as if you haven’t noticed yourself,” huffs Queenie, “look, Newt, he’s got your type written all over him! And it’s clear as day that …” she pauses, unsure if she should keep speaking. Newt’s eyes fly up to her with wonder, conflicted between being glad that she’d stopped, and curious as to what she was going to say.

The secretary clicks her tongue, looking at Newt critically. “Nevermind that. I’m just sayin’, you’re almost thirty years old and your dating experience totals up to going out with my sister _once_ , and by the end you were both laughin’ with relief that you weren’t into each other. Don’t let this sweet thing walk right outta your grasp!”

“Since when are you so concerned with my romantic life?” Newt genuinely wonders, eyes wide. Either way, he shakes the question off and gives Queenie a solemn look. “Credence is eighteen. Credence has a lot to focus on right now, and doesn’t need any distractions. And _for heaven’s sake_ , Queenie, Credence is my _client!_ ”

Rolling her eyes, Queenie shakes her head. “None of that stuff matters. Look, I’m just sayin’ - think about it, alright? Pay close attention to him. You might be surprised what you find.”

Confusion riddles Newt’s face, and before he can ask what she’s implying, the woman turns on her heel and walks out. Albeit, not before shouting over her shoulder, “Oh, by the way! Teenie’s comin’ over to the firm today. She wants to meet Credence.”

* * *

Every Monday seems to suck the soul out of Credence’s body - not only due to its significance as the kickstarter to the loathsome business week, but also because of how _busy_ his Mondays always are. With three classes in one day and work in-between them, by the time his evening course ends at 8pm, his spirit feels like a ton of bricks beneath his skin. Yet, this Monday is different. Normally, if he’d retained at least a fraction of competence from the day’s abuse, he’d pick up a night shift at the restaurant and do himself a financial favour. But _tonight_ , he has a meeting with Newt - Newt, who’d agreed to stay at the firm longer than he usually would to accommodate Credence’s schedule. Butterflies flit in his stomach as he climbs the concrete stairway to the firm’s main entrance, but he figures it’s only nerves. Newt must be as exhausted as he is. He really shouldn’t have offered his precious time to someone like Credence.

The office space is considerably empty. It appears that most of the workers have gone home, though some stragglers are nestled at their designated spaces, fingers padding away at keyboards or pens scrabbling at sheets of paper. The closer he gets to Newt’s office, he sees that Queenie is still there, and Jacob is standing beside her desk, deep in conversation with his spouse. They both pause upon noticing him.

“Hey, Credence!” Queenie sings, her face beaming with a genuine gladness to see the student - one that nearly startles him. “Oh, honey, you look beat. Why don’t you sit down, sugar, Newt’s still in a meeting.”

Jacob pulls a cushioned chair around for the boy, and Credence bows his head gratefully before seating himself on it. “Thank you, Mr. Kowalski. And, it’s nothing to be worried about, Ms. Goldstein, I’ve just had a long day.”

Despite Credence’s dismissal of her worry, Queenie still frets over him like a mother hen, concern in her eyes. He figures, then, he must look exceptionally tired.

“Stay right here, honey, I’ll go get you some water. Jacob, would you tell Newt to wait a moment if he’s finished up before I get back?”

Nodding, Jacob utters a “Sure thing, honey,” before Queenie takes off, her usual energy about her paced steps. Once she’s disappeared around the corner, Jacob turns to Credence, who’s since leaned back in his seat. Noticing eyes on him, the boy perks up, and Jacob laughs and urges him to relax once more. “You’re in school, right, kid?”

“Yes,” Credence replies, “University.”

“Oh, really?” The man’s eyebrows raise, “I thought you were still in high school, like a senior, or somethin’. What school do you go to?”

Pursing his lips, Credence seems hesitant. Not wanting to appear rude, however, he forces out an answer. “Columbia, sir.”

Silence hangs between them for quite a few seconds, and Credence shifts uncomfortably. Jacob’s jaw is slack, eyes wide as though Credence had grown another head to his witness. “Wait, kid,” the man answers, visibly impressed, “are you for real? Columbia _University_? Don’t they only take like five percent of the kids that apply?”

“Six,” Credence says sheepishly, appearing to shrink in on himself, “It must have been a mistake, really - or, just pure luck.”

“No way, there’s no mistaking that. You’ve gotta be a genius, right? Either that or rich as hell. And judging by the fact you work two jobs and are suin’ for your inheritance, I don’t get the feelin’ it’s the latter.” Jacob is grinning, though - and his eyes are shining with pride. Credence is mesmerized. He’d never been looked at like that before - except by Newt, once.

Smiling timidly, Credence exhales, hands tight on the chair’s armrests. “I liked school a lot. It gave me the chance to get away from home. I didn’t have a lot of friends, and it surely wasn’t fun all the time, but … when I was there, by myself, studying … it felt really peaceful. I guess I started valuing it enough to make the kind of grades a school like Columbia was looking for.”

Jacob nods along, listening intently. His eyes seem to bulge out of his skull, then, as he appears to realize something. “So, wait - are you on a _scholarship_?”

Face warming up, Credence nods and coughs out a winded, “three.”

“Man, oh man. You seemed like a sharp kid, but I never guessed you were _that_ sharp. Half the college kids in this town don’t know their right from their left. The lot of ‘em just wanna cause trouble. You oughta stay away from that type, Credence. You work really hard, you know? Don’t get caught up in all that craziness.”

The older man appears to be speaking from a place of experience. Credence’s eyes sadden, but he doesn’t ask. He only nods his head and nearly whispers, “I don’t think I’ll have to worry about that.”

Queenie comes back before the conversation can continue, and Jacob boldly proclaims to her that Credence is a Columbia student. The blonde, however, seemed to already be aware - though her eyes are still bright in the same way Jacob’s had been earlier. Credence briefly wonders, then, how she had known - before it dawns on him that Newt has his file, and most likely told her. He pictures Newt, in his mind, looking as proud of him as Jacob had. His heart pounds in his chest and his face deepens in hue.

“Credence?” Queenie asks, setting the cold water bottle down beside him, “Y’alright there, angel?”

Blinking as reality settles back in, Credence nods vigorously, immediately reaching for the water and unscrewing the cap silently. Queenie smiles at him, before turning her head back toward Newt’s office.

“Ah, I see he’s not back yet. He and Teenie must really be held up in there.”

“Yeah, you know - _You-Know-Who_ wanted to conference call with ‘em. I imagine Tina’s chewed him out by now,” Jacob says cryptically, and Credence can’t help but wonder who the redacted name belongs to.

Queenie rolls her eyes, shaking her head. “Isn’t that just like him … I’ll bet he’s trying to rope Newt into a settlement. He doesn’t know what he’s up against.”

“Well, ‘course he doesn’t,” Jacob grins, looking at Credence. “Boy’s a Columbia kid.”

The image of confusion the student wears on his face is unmistakable, and both of the older adults laugh in a way that only vivifies it. Queenie waves her hand at him. “Oh, don’t worry, sugar. I’m sure Newt’ll tell you all about it.”

As though he’d been queued in, the conference room door flies open and out comes Newt, behind a storming Tina. Queenie blinks at her sister, who immediately goes toward the secretary’s desk and begins pouring herself a cup of coffee. “I need a drink,” is all she says.

The blonde Goldstein chuckles, moving toward her older sister and placing her hands delicately upon her shoulders, “I don’t think that’s gonna be as strong as what you’re lookin’ for, Teenie.”

“No,” admits Tina dryly, “but it’ll do for now.”

“Bloody hell,” sighs Newt, rubbing his eyes. Credence gawks at him, noticing the change in his typical demeanor. The suit jacket that twins the pants he wears had been discarded, and is currently draped over his arm; his bowtie is unfastened, as are the first three buttons of his shirt. And by God, Credence hadn’t yet heard the other man _swear_. Something about this mildly disheveled appearance flusters Credence to the point where he can’t even say hello, and make his presence known. “What a character. You’d think he’d have got the hint after we’d told him no the first forty times.”

“Your brother warned you ‘bout him, Newt,” says Queenie, still rubbing Tina’s shoulders, “Jesus, you two look like you’ve been in a fistfight.”

“We might as well have been.” Tina yawns, finishing her coffee and catching Credence’s eye in her quest to return her sister’s mug to its designated place. She gapes at him for a moment, before a large smile breaks out onto her features and she pushes past her sister and brother-in-law. “Credence!” She calls, though the boy is right in front of her, by now, “It’s you! I’m so glad to finally meet you - I’m Tina, Tina Goldstein - the investigator that’s putting together all your evidence. It’s weird introducing myself to you - I know so much about you already, hah.” She takes the student’s hand, smiling brightly - all traces of annoyance and fatigue gone entirely. Newt is watching them.

“A-Ah, Ms. Goldstein,” Credence nods, shaking her hand, “I’ve heard about you.”

“Newt hasn’t completely slandered me, has he?” She jokes, and the Englishman in question laughs.

Credence’s face burns, and he shakes his head. “Oh, no, Ms. Goldstein - he’s only said wonderful things about you. And so has your family.”

“Well, that’s good to hear. With all I do for Newt, I think a bit of praise is warranted.” Her bright smile has yet to subside, and she sits eagerly in a chair beside Credence, leaning on her hand. “So, tell me - do you know exactly _how_ much your birth mother left you? Because surely that would play Ms. Barebone’s motives in keeping it to herself, right?”

“Tina,” Newt says, almost pleadingly, “we can’t keep him here all night. Besides, I’m sure he’d _love_ to hear what _Mr. Graves_ had to say about his case.”

The tiniest frown etches indignantly beneath Tina’s nose, but she nods comprehensively. “Right, right. Well - when’s the next time he’ll be here?”

“Thursday,” both Credence and Newt speak the word in unison, and the younger of the two flushes vibrantly at the occurrence before occupying himself with the plastic bottle in his grasp. Newt finds himself smiling at Credence - he really is such a shy boy, even after weeks of the two of them meeting this way. But he’s this shy with everyone, isn’t he? It’s nothing to be suspicious of, nor feel special about.

Rising from her seat, Tina pulls on her coat and fishes her gloves out of her pocket, “Well, I’ll be back then. It was so nice to finally meet you, Credence. You’re just as charming as Newt described you to be.”

By this point, Credence is certain his face could fry an egg. “Wh-What? Newt said that I was ch-charming?”

Queenie elbows Jacob, constricting a squeal at the base of her throat.

“Yes, I did. Because you are,” the attorney confirms, mellow expression testifying to his sincerity, “not only are you very smart and unusually kind, but you’re … ah, genuine. That’s a good word for it, heh.” His index finger raises to scratch at the side of his neck, helplessly laughing off the unintentional falter in his speech. He’d almost said something that would surely get him in trouble, not to mention send Queenie rocketing through the ceiling.

Nevertheless, Credence’s heart feels as though it’s about to burst from his chest and paint the entire room red.

* * *

His bedroom is silent as his eyes focus on the nebulous lines of his ceiling, clarity concealed by the darkness of both the room and the night itself. It has to be past two in the morning, and yet his eyes carry not an ounce of weight - his mind is abuzz with the days’ events, both good and bad - but mostly, his brain keeps coming back to how Queenie had cornered him in his office and insisted he pursue Credence. As though she’d enchanted his mind with some kind of spell, he finds it hard to not over-analyze Credence’s actions and tendencies; it’s as if the moment she’d advised him to watch close over the boy, he subconsciously decided he would.

There’s the obvious reason it’s not that difficult to look at his client for an unnecessarily lengthy amount of time - he’s gorgeous. On visuals alone, Credence could easily be a model; Newt had initially thought he was until it clicked in his mind that it was indeed the same boy from the file, the same boy who looked malnourished both physically and emotionally. He’s clearly doing better without his mother, which raises many a concern in the attorney’s mind. Perhaps this case isn’t solely about money, but something far more sinister goes on between Mary Lou Barebone and the boy she’d plucked up from the local orphanage like a dying dandelion. Perhaps …

No. Surely not.

What an awful thing of which accuse someone, with hardly any proof.

As unfond of Ms. Barebone as he is from description alone, he can’t hold her to such a hefty allegation without proof. That’s what his entire career consists of, isn’t it? So that’s that.

Except that it isn’t. The tightness in his throat won’t let up. The hunch won’t go away. And as he turns on his side to try to shake the thoughts out of his head, he realizes why. His mind carries him back to several occasions where he and Credence touched hands - how the boy nearly recoiled away, as though he wished to  hide something, but eventually gave in. How calloused and uneven the palm of the otherwise soft and dainty hand felt. How subconsciously, he caught a glimpse of its surface when he pulled his hand away from Tina’s.

Scars.

A gelid chill curls up his spine, and Newt sits up in his bed, as though he’d just had a nightmare. “Those could be anything …” he tells himself, pursing his lips. But he knows. He knows they’re not just anything.

He knows Credence was abused by that woman. And Percival Graves had the audacity to ask him to back out.

But of course he won’t. An anger unlike him circulates from his tight chest and spreads throughout his body like a virus. It all makes sense now. Credence’s timidness, his frequent flinching, his willingness to take every quarter of blame, even if he deserves none of it. That beautiful, beautiful boy has suffered up to eighteen years of  _God-knows-what_ at the hands of someone that was supposed to save and protect him - but instead, chose to be his biggest adversary.

The moment he gathers enough evidence to accuse her formally, he’s going all in. He’ll do whatever he can to make sure that vile woman can never harm Credence, nor any other innocent child _ever_ again.

He’ll call Tina first thing in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, now you know why credence has to basically suffer 24/7 to pay not only his rent, but his tuition. he may be on scholarships but that Columbia Coin™ is not cheap. also, yes queenie and jacob are married but queenie kept her surname, hence why she's still called 'ms. goldstein' lol. 
> 
> aaah, i really like writing this story. i apologize for this chapter being a tad bit short, but i ensure you the next one will be quite a bit longer!! 
> 
> thanks so much for reading!! xx


	4. Chapter Three.

It’s been just over a week since Credence learned that Newt thought of him as charming. And every day since, he’s thought about it. From lying in his bed with his eyes trained on the ceiling, to losing focus in the middle of a lecture to daydream about a very specific pair of green eyes and how they'd looked upon him so fondly in that instance of revelation.

As ludicrous as it seems to focus on a single complement for so long a time, Credence is very unused to receiving honest, kind words - and even less does he actually acknowledge them as honest. So on those occasions that such a rare occurrence is presented to him, it saturates in his mind for weeks at a time. And, if Credence were to be honest with himself, it doesn't help that it's Newt. The attorney seems to occupy a constant space in his mind - even if he’s preoccupied with something else, he can hear that gentle and warm voice whispering at the back of his mind, and see the golden, freckled skin like a canvas stretched invitingly before him.

Unfortunately, the lack of consistency in New York’s weather patterns are less than kind to the student's delicate sinuses. He feared he'd catch a winter bug as he seems to every year, always around the middle or end of December. Fortunately, if he falls too ill he won't miss much schoolwork as his Christmas vacation is solely a series of days away, but before then, he’ll have to crusade through his finals.

Work is another story. Being that he rarely takes off, he has plenty of sick days between his two sources of pay, but it’s only that he hates to miss work that hinders him. Once, he’d even been sent home after nearly fainting whence he came in unwell.

At this particular point, however, it's nothing more than a few sniffles. He’s definitely contracted a virus, but perhaps his immune system has learned its lesson by now.

Albeit, his mind is competent enough to drift back to the conversation they'd had that fateful night - the same night where Newt had spoke about Credence’s apparent charms - about a man called Percival Graves. He’d never seen Newt look so exasperated at the mere mention of another person - and Newt had explained, begrudgingly, how the man in question is the spearhead of their opposition - his mother’s defense attorney. Surely that alone isn't a reason to fault him, thought Credence, for the man is simply doing his job. But once Newt had broken down the opposing lawyer’s apparent strategies, as he and Tina had experienced them, a certain fear rose like bile in the plaintiff's throat.

Thank the heavens that his own lawyer is a brave and determined soul, for if pressured just enough, Credence would have shattered and taken the settlement. He's easy to intimidate, and a pacifist to a fault - and the way Newt had characterized him, Graves seems to know that. He wouldn't be surprised if Mary Lou told him such.

On that note, Newt had actually apologized for declining the settlement offer without first telling Credence about it, and the dark-haired boy had thought for a moment that perhaps Newt had thought of him that way, too, and was just taking a necessary precaution. But the deeper they ventured into conversation, the more Credence had convinced himself that it was less of that, and more of Newt genuinely wanting to fight for him - if only Credence hadn't been so afraid of everything, maybe Newt would have felt the need to include him. Perhaps if he'd just muster up the courage to ask, Newt could teach him to swallow his fears and step gallantly into what he knows to be righteous.

Either way, he’s already petrified of Percival Graves. He hopes in vain that he'll never have to meet him.

* * *

“That woman is nothing but a demon,” hisses Tina, her quick feet carrying her furiously down the hallway and into her own office. “An evil, foul, soul-sucking _demon_.”

“Very colourful vocabulary,” Newt says, following behind her with less vigour, “as much as I agree with you, we’re still upstream without a paddle as far as usable evidence goes.”

Throwing herself angrily into her swivel chair, Tina rolls over to one of several massive file cabinets placed purposefully about her office. She pulls open one of the drawers and fingers through the sea of tabs before extracting a gray folder and throwing it onto the mahogany surface of her desk.

Newt’s eyebrows raise curiously, nearing the investigator’s desk as she pours herself a mug full of coffee.

“Credence’s file,” she answers his unasked question. “Aside from what I’ve already turned over to you, that's everything I have on him so far. And Mary Lou.” She smooths a well-manicured hand over the folder’s surface, before sliding it over, closer to where Newt is standing. “I went through it with a fine-tooth comb as soon as you called me Tuesday morning. And I finally got my hands on a _full_ copy of Mary Lou’s criminal record. Newt, you won't _believe_ what I found in there.”

Thumbing through the files, Newt seems to reach the gold mine in question as soon as Tina brings it up. He looks up toward her disbelievingly, as though the words typed out before him must be a figment of his imagination. “Blimey, Tina,” he breathes, “why didn't they give you this before?”

“Because he was suing her for inheritance. The case had nothing to do with child abuse … I technically shouldn't even have those, because it kind of still doesn't yet - but look at this. Three noise complaints from neighbors, saying they heard _screaming_ and _crying._ One in 2005 and two in 2006, the years she adopted Chastity and Credence respectively. _Six_ domestic violence _warnings._ And that’s not even the full extent. Why in God's name was she allowed to keep those kids? She should have been in jail years ago, Newt. You have to talk to Credence. You have to get him to press charges. At this point, it's just the right thing to do.”

Newt’s grip appears to tighten on the file’s spine, matching the sudden tension in his jaw. “Right.” Is all he says at first, his tone surprisingly firm.

Tina’s brows raise, before she leans back in her chair. “Newt,” she speaks to him gently, the tiniest sigh in her voice as she then leans forward on her elbows, “this is about more than just the case, isn’t it? You really care about Credence, don’t you?”

A barely-audible laugh then filters through Newt’s nostrils, similarly to a sigh. How ironic, he thinks, to be cornered by yet another Goldstein on the matter of his feelings toward his client. “Of course I do,” he answers, licking his lips thoughtfully, “someone ought to. It’s not fair, the way he’s been treated all his life. He doesn’t deserve it. He’s all types of wonderful … I want to give him the security he deserves. And part of that is making sure this woman is brought to justice.”

“What’s the other part?” Asks Tina, head tilting as though she already knows.

Newt’s gaze falls upon the window to his right, offering the sight of a snow-filled panorama. “To give him the love he deserves.”

* * *

Seemingly the minute Newt sets foot in the firm, shaking the snow out of his scarf and hair, a drum of determined footsteps sounds as though he were at the front line of a war. Looking up, he meets the silvery-blue eyes of none other than his older brother, watching him with vigilance and some other illegible quality.

“Newt,” he finally starts, taking the younger Scamander by the arm and pulling him forward - apparently ignoring the slight dampness in his coat, “where exactly have you been? About twelve people have come by looking for you, and I’ve got my own bone to pick.”

Taking the hint that he’s in trouble, the copper-haired of the two sighs and doesn’t bother trying to pluck his arm free of his brother’s grasp. It sounds like mostly worry in his tone, aside from anger, so whatever mess he’s gotten himself tangled into mustn’t be too awful. “I went to see Tina, about my client. This case is so much deeper than what I originally thought, Theseus, you wouldn’t-”

“Oh, do be quiet,” Theseus groans, to Newt’s surprise.

“What’s the matter?”

“You know what’s the matter.”

“I wouldn’t be asking if I did, would I?”

Huffing irritably, Theseus tugs Newt into his office and shuts the door behind him. His eyes are shining with something different, now, and Newt has only seen him with this expression once before - several years ago. His brother wouldn’t speak much to him about whatever was going on, but he remembers vividly that his sibling looked nearly … _heartbroken._

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Theseus asks, no less cryptically then before.

Groaning, Newt crosses his arms. “Tell you what, exactly? What’s going on with you? You’re usually so much clearer and straightforward than-”

“You didn’t tell me about Graves,” interrupts Theseus, and every bit of sass drains out of Newt like his attitude had been put through a colander. His brother shakes his head, moving toward his desk and facing away from him, as his hand grips the thick leather constituting the majority of his chair.

Cautiously, Newt nears him. His voice is soft. “No, I suppose I didn’t. I hadn’t figured it was that important to you …” The younger attorney is aware that his brother and the defense attorney in question have a recent history, but Theseus’ demonstrative response throws him. To the best of his knowledge, they had been partners long ago - inseparable friends, until Graves had suddenly left the picture. Newt barely remembers how Graves had been before, almost like he’d been a child at the time, despite it surely having been less than five years ago.

Theseus’ jaw visibly tightens, even from behind, and Newt’s worry intensifies.

“It’s not that,” the brunette finally speaks after a tense silence, and Newt isn’t sure if he believes him, “it’s just … I thought you’d tell me. It almost seemed like you were trying to hide it from me - with everything else you’ve told me about this case. About this _boy_ ,” Theseus finally turns to face him, and Newt’s eyes are wide. “I’ve warned you about Graves before. You must be careful. Do _not_ get yourself irreversibly attached to any part of this case, or he’ll … he’ll use it against you. He’s manipulative that way.”

“Did he manipulate you?” Newt finds himself asking, and instantly wishes he could somehow swallow those words like they’d never been spoken.

The metallic blue of Theseus’ eyes flicker as though he’d been pricked by a thorn, or perhaps even stepped on a nail. Solidly, he only answers, “Yes,” before averting his gaze.

He wants to know so much more. Why had his brother only spoken of Graves in a businesslike fashion if there was something more to whatever relationship they’d had? The betrayal Theseus had once felt, or perhaps _still_ feels, is potent in his failing composure. But, despite the force of his curiosity and concern, Newt doesn’t ask any further. He only purses his lips and exhales through his nostrils.

“I’m not going to let him take advantage of me,” Newt promises, “whatever tactics he’s planning to use, I’m not going to be overpowered by him. Credence is the first client I’ve had in a long time … perhaps, even, the only client I’ve ever had, where I’ve felt this strongly about the case. I care a lot for him. I ought to. But it’s not a weakness. If anything, it’s a strength. Hollow men like Graves have very little purpose in the courtroom. Maybe even in life.”

Again, Theseus meets his eyes. He looks as though he wants to speak volumes, but hesitates. His response only consists of a plea. “Just be careful.”

Perhaps had this exchange happened twenty years ago, Newt would have sprang forward into his brother’s arms, offering every last scrap of affection contained by his body in attempt to boost his brother’s mood. And while those affectionate feelings haven’t changed, his relationship with his brother has. It simply doesn’t feel appropriate anymore. Thus, all he finds himself able to do is offer a nod, though he’s certain his eyes are telling of the tenderness in his chest.

Another bout of thick silence settles like smog in the air, and Newt is just about to see his way out, when Theseus speaks to him once more. “By the way … your client came by earlier, looking for you.”

“Credence?” Newt asks, composure threatened by surprise, “Wh- He wasn’t scheduled for today …”

Theseus shrugs, “It didn’t look as though he was planning on coming. I don’t know if he’s still here, but last I saw him, he went off with Queenie. She’s … having a rough time today. Jacob told me they received more … ‘bad news.’”

“Oh, dear …” Newt’s face falls, immediately aware of the implication. He nods to his brother, before reaching for the office door and exiting promptly.

Almost running through the firm, he makes it to the other side in time to see Credence awkwardly draping an arm around Queenie, and Jacob at her other side, rubbing comforting circles into her back. The woman in question is hunched over, face buried in her arms. There’s no doubt she’s been crying, if she isn’t now.

“Queenie,” Newt addresses her gently, once he’s close enough. Credence flinches in surprise and Jacob looks up at him, but Queenie doesn’t move. “Queenie?” He tries again, by now standing in front of her desk.

A shaky breath ensues, before the blonde raises her head. Reddish mascara has left chalky rivulets down her cheeks, and her painted lips are bowed in a pained frown. Her blue eyes are dim with sadness.

“Dear, why are you here? You ought to be at home.” His pale green eyes are placid as they regard the hurting woman.

“No, no, it’s okay,” she says, attempting to force herself to maintain her usual cheer. It comes so easy to her, usually, that it clearly isn’t meant to be rehearsed - her voice is crumbling, her breaths uneven and her posture fractured. “There’s no use goin’ home and sittin’ around, mopin’ all day. I’ll be fine! I been told this before. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Credence is staring at her, as is Jacob. Both men appear fairly wounded, like Queenie’s sorrow is contagious. It must be, for Newt can feel it, too.

“Queenie,” says Newt, a third time, “go home.”

Soft pink lips quiver in silent affliction, before the woman sighs tremulously and begins to collect her things. Newt looks to Jacob, and silent understanding that she shouldn’t be alone at such a time passes between them.

“You know Theseus already knows,” Newt whispers to him, “I’m sure he’ll understand. I’ll tell him you’ve gone home.”

Credence stands from where he’d been seated beside Queenie, watching as Jacob helps her into her coat. He’d never seen her like this before - of course, he’s only known her a few weeks, but the woman always presented herself with a strong, joyful energy that Credence had almost thought it impossible for her to suffer. How naive of him. He’d never seen so much of himself in the woman - a woman who, to him, is a fine example of a tenacious and altruistic spirit.

For a moment, he thought it was a sign. A sign that maybe, with enough healing, he could be the same as her.

Settling her beret carefully over her head, Queenie is about to leave - just as she turns to face Credence. Approaching, she takes his hands, smiling at him in such a way that has him afraid his heart will be tugged right out of his chest. “Thank you, sweetie,” she murmurs graciously, “you really made me feel better. You’ve got such a good heart, Credence. Don’t ever forget that.”

Slightly perplexed, Credence figures he hadn’t done much beyond sit with her in silence. But it seems to have meant a lot to her. For half a second, he feels proud of himself. “Ms. Goldstein … I hope you feel better. You’ll be alright, won’t you?”

“I sure will!” Queenie chirps, almost sounding like her usual self, “sometimes, life is hard and unfair, and it really gets you down … but that doesn’t mean a blessing isn’t just right around the corner. You just gotta be patient, you know?”

He doesn’t know. But her words resonate with him, as though she’d chiseled them into his mind. Nodding dumbly, Credence feels Queenie squeeze his hands before she lets him go, and slings her purse around her shoulder. Newt pats her gently along the waist as she follows Jacob toward the exit.

Turning toward Credence, Newt smiles tightly before going to unlock his office door. “I wasn’t expecting you, today. Not that it’s a problem, of course - I was just talking about you with Tina before I arrived.”

“What’s wrong with Ms. Goldstein?” asks the dark-haired boy, as though the words had been suspended in his throat, waiting to burst. “I … I wanted to ask her, but it seemed too personal. She was crying too much to really talk to me, anyway …”

Newt pauses in the middle of turning the doorknob, looking over his shoulder at a solicitous Credence. His dark eyes are nearly twinkling under the artificial light, and Newt simply stares at him for a moment, almost forgetting that he’d been asked a question. “You shouldn’t be so shy with Queenie, Credence,” the attorney tells him, resuming his task of opening the door, and gesturing for the younger man to follow him inside. “Besides, it’s always best to get information from the source. Not that I think she’d mind me telling you, she likes you very much, you know. If that bit before she left wasn’t enough to convince you.”

Bashfully, Credence flushes and looks away.

“Anyway,” Newt sighs, sitting at his desk and resting his chin atop intertwined fingers, “Jacob and Queenie have been trying to have a child since they were married, three years ago. They haven’t had any luck. The only time she managed to get pregnant … she miscarried. It’s happened again, unfortunately. On top of that, her doctor believes she’s going through premature menopause.”

Credence stands utterly still, and completely silent - as though a gun’s just gone off. “That’s awful …” he whispers, and Newt nods. “Ma … Ma went through something similar. She always talked so much about how she wanted to have as many children as possible, and she felt like God was punishing her that she couldn’t. I don’t think she wanted them for the right reasons, though … so I always thought … maybe it was a punishment. The way she treated us -” Credence holds his breath, and shakes his head, “But Ms. Goldstein isn’t like that. She doesn’t deserve it … It’s not fair.”

Newt exhales, gesturing for Credence to sit, and finally, the boy does. “Not every bad thing that happens to a person is because they deserve it, Credence. Actually, it’s almost never because they deserve it. Don’t think like that.” He can tell this philosophy is Mary Lou’s doing, which causes his jaw to tighten for a fraction of a moment. Then, he looks at Credence with soft eyes. “Sometimes, bad things happen to good people. No one really knows why … but some people think it’s to make them strong. Queenie will get through this, even though she shouldn’t have to. But she will. And she’ll be stronger because of it. And everything you’ve been through, Credence, will make you stronger, too.”

The student looks up as that final thought is spoken, his eyes glittering once again in that way that captivates Newt. The day seems full of weighted silences, as Newt finds himself caught in yet another - but something different is heavy in the atmosphere, as he and Credence sit at a suddenly unbearable distance, staring at each other. Newt’s heart is pounding.

So is Credence’s.

“Well! No use faffing about,” Newt speaks rather loudly, startling Credence as he clears his throat, “you came here for a reason, didn’t you? Stellar timing, since there’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”

“O-Oh, yes …” Credence begins, squirming a bit in his chair, “unfortunately, I don’t have a lot of time - I have to be at work in about an hour and a half.” It’s just then that Newt notices Credence is dressed in proper attire, the crisp white button-down and straight black tie is rather ominous, until he notices a name tag pinned to his chest, with a restaurant’s logo hovering above “ **CREDENCE** ” in block letters. “B-But … well, I came by to ask you something. I should have just called, but … it seemed better to ask in person.”

Blinking, Newt nods, silently egging the younger man on.

“What happens if … if I lose?”

Clearly thrown, Newt’s eyes widen and his lips fall open. Once again clearing his throat, he very strategically forms an answer, “Well - if we were to lose, the worst that would happen is that Mary Lou wouldn’t have to pay you. There’s legislation in the States that keeps you from having to pay her lawyer, unless the judge, for some reason, rules that you ought to. But that almost never happens. She’s very ‘graciously’ decided not to counter-sue you, so no money would be coming out of your pocket and going to her.”

“... That’s it?” Credence asks, lashes fluttering in surprise.

Laughing softly, Newt nods. “Yes, that’s it. But don’t worry yourself about losing. I’m going to do everything I can to make sure that we win.” Suddenly reminded, Newt checks his watch and huffs. He only has Credence for another forty-five minutes. “Which reminds me, Credence … Tina and I have been looking into evidence, and we … well, we believe that there’s more to your case than simply an inheritance. There should be, anyway.”

Visibly perplexed, Credence’s head tilts. “What … What do you mean?”

“I don’t want you to be frightened by this idea. That’s all it is right now, is an idea, okay?” Somehow, Credence seems even further away from Newt than he was before. He’s shrunk in on himself, despite Newt’s best efforts to approach this comfortably. “Credence … there’s more going on between you and Mary Lou, isn’t there? She’s … she’s abused you, hasn’t she?”

The student appears winded by the question, and the colour appears to drain from his flesh. “N-N … well … I-”

“Credence,” Newt nearly whispers, standing and very slowly approaching where the boy sits, as though he were a cornered animal. The attorney lowers himself to one knee, and rests his hand on the armrest of the chair his client is trembling in. “It’s okay. Tell me. I promise, it’s alright. I’m going to protect you. With whatever it takes, I will.”

Before he can even think to attempt restraint, tears are spilling from Credence’s eyes. He’s shaking, arms wrapped around himself in attempt to make himself smaller; to disappear. “Newt …” he whines, closing his eyes tight, “Oh, Newt … she … sh-she’s hurt me, s-so much.”

Newt’s lips purse as he looks at the near-sobbing boy. If it were anyone else, he’d look away in discomfort at seeing such raw emotion displayed before him. But he can’t take his eyes away from Credence. Even if he feels like his heart is going to burst. “I know,” Newt says softly, slowly placing his hand atop the younger man’s and stroking over the quaking expanse of his knuckles. “I can tell. Credence, I want you to have the freedom to never worry about her again. You need to … I believe that you should press criminal charges against her. On top of the case we already have, I know it’s a lot. But _trust me_ , Credence, it’s a necessary step. At least, I think it is. I’m not going to try to force you into it, however. This is your case. I work for you. You have the freedom to choose what you want to do. Of course, I think you should do it. But I don’t want you to feel cornered. This is up to you, okay? Take as much time as you need to thi-”

“I want to do it.”

The firmness and surety of Credence’s voice is nearly startling. Newt looks up at him, eyes reddened and wet, breaths heavy and staggered, and face an inspiring combination of fear and determination.

“Are you certain?” Newt asks him, very aware of how close their faces are. He can tell, Credence is aware, too - but neither of them move away. If anything, Newt swears  Credence moves closer. His hand has stopped trembling under Newt’s touch. It’s like he’s never been this close to another person, before.

“Yes,” Credence answers after a while, a hushed sniffle following the declaration. “I’ve been afraid of her my entire life. I still am … I’m terrified. But I don’t want to be scared of her to the point where I can’t … live, anymore. I don’t want my fears to stop me from living. I trust you, Newt. I trust you enough to do it, even though I’m afraid.”

For the first time in his life, Newt feels his chest fluttering. He nods soundly at Credence, slowly raising his hand to cup the younger man’s cheek. Credence’s eyes enlarge just slightly, before they close, and he leans into the touch. They’re very close, now, noses nearly touching, lips centimeters apart. He can feel Credence’s stuttering breaths against his skin.

His mind is screaming a certain string of words that are rising in his throat, sweet on his tongue. Never in his life has he felt so fond of another person; so determined to destroy anything that would dare threaten to harm him.

“Credence …” his lips barely move. Credence doesn’t open his eyes. Newt can see that his lips have parted. He can feel his own eyes closing, almost against his will - like second nature to his body.

“Newt!” Theseus’ voice echoes through the firm, his footsteps quickly becoming audible as he nears the office. Both men start, and Newt gets to his feet just in time for his office door to slam open, his brother standing at the threshold, waving a manila folder. “From Tina.” Pausing, the brunette raises a brow at his brother, who looks like he’s just run a marathon. “Why are you sweating? Look, I know I’m not Queenie, but you could at least look a _little_ glad to see me.” Dropping the files on the nearest shelf, he rolls his eyes and leaves.

Processing all that just happened, Newt chances a glance at Credence, who almost appears to be pouting. Clearing his throat for the third time of the hour, he strides toward his coat, taking it off the rack. “Come, Credence. I’ll take you to work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally, theseus makes his grand entry in this story, lol. 
> 
> listen ,,, i know every time i promise y'all a longer chapter i come up with a short one, but the next one is gonna be a lot longer, okay? shit's about to go down. 
> 
> also i'm not sorry for that almost-kiss. it's tagged slow burn for a reason. B) 
> 
> ( i was in physical pain writing it ) 
> 
> if you're enjoying this story, please do let me know!! the feedback is really motivating, especially since i've been having on-off writer's block ,,, 
> 
> thanks so much to all of you!


	5. Chapter Four.

The amount of medicine in his body must be near toxic.

It’s finals week, and a true testimony to his foul luck, what had been a minor illness has ballooned into full-on influenza. Blotchy red craters encircle his eyes, which are dull with what can only be deemed lifelessness, and his skin shares a hue with the paper on which he’s sketching, from memory, a labeled diagram of the human eye. It’s past midnight, and he sits on his bed surrounded by an array of used tissues and his notes. Fortunately, he only has one exam left - but it’s his hardest of them all, and the most critical to his career path as an ophthalmologist.

Wheezing pathetically, Credence just about coughs up his entire throat into yet another tissue, and finally takes a look around him. Certainly this mess won’t help him get any better. He forces his aching body off the forgiving surface of his mattress, and drags the trash can nearer to the side of the bed, gathering all of the damp disposables with a grimace and tossing them inside. He’s been studying since he got off work at seven-thirty, and watching the clock inch toward one in the morning, he courts the idea of going to bed. His exam isn’t until half-past noon, and he isn’t stupid enough to try to go in to work like this, so he’ll manage to get a decent amount of sleep if he heads to bed now.

He and Newt haven’t spoken as much as he would like in the week or so that had elapsed since their last meeting, though for good reason - the attorney is well-aware of Credence’s academic responsibilities, and insisted the younger focus on his exams instead of worrying too much about the case. It could wait, he said.

But Credence is thinking about so much more than just the case. Hadn’t they almost _kissed_ , that one evening? Or had he imagined it - that Wednesday evening, where Newt’s office had suddenly felt like the safest place in the world … the boy is certain he won’t ever forget that moment; there’s no chance of it, whether or not it had been a dream. What did it _mean,_ though? Was Newt feeling the same way he was? Was his heart hammering just as hard and fast? How Credence wishes he could know … he hasn’t been able to think about anything else, lest he drown himself in schoolwork.

Needless to say, they hadn’t talked about it. At all. Almost as if it hadn’t even happened.

Credence releases a sigh he hadn’t even known he was holding, despite its weight, and throws on his nightshirt over his briefs. Padding to his kitchenette, he starts a kettle of water on the stove and opens his refrigerator, extracting from it a mason jar filled with honey, cinnamon, and sliced ginger. Stretching to his tiptoes, he opens the cabinet above the fridge and finds a lemon teabag. By the minute he concocts all of these items in a mug, his water is boiling.

Even with his tendency to drink coffee like it’s water, Credence is well-aware that tea is better for his state of unwellness. Besides, ginger and coffee aren’t exactly a delicious combination.

He just hopes he can finish his makeshift potion before he falls asleep.

Perhaps, if his bitter luck will spare him in his slumber, he’ll dream of warm freckles and pale green eyes.

* * *

 “This place is pretty borin’ without Credence, don't you think?”

The question comes as Newt hangs up the phone, having just checked on the student in question. He’s built up a habit of trying to call often - but not _too_ often - just to make sure that he’s alright (at least, that's what he tells himself it's for). Blinking at Queenie, who'd wandered into his office with such an inquiry, Newt laughs softly and shrugs his shoulders.

“I mean, don't get me wrong, Newt, honey,” she speaks again, filling the silence with her sugary voice, “you know I love your company just as much as anythin’ in the world, but don't you notice? It's better when he's here. More lively, I think.”

“You didn't seem to feel something was missing before he came, did you?” Newt asks, attempting to mask how much he agrees with her. There certainly is something different about the atmosphere when Credence is around - though the boy is timid and softspoken, he brings a life to the firm that Newt hadn't noticed wasn't there before. He’s quite relieved to discover he isn't the only one that feels it.

“Well that's just it,” Queenie says, sitting on her usual corner of Newt’s desk, “it was _before_ he came! You know they say you never realize you got something good ‘til it's gone. Or I guess, you never realize you don't have all you could ‘til it comes.”

“Except, Credence isn't gone,” Newt is speaking before he even realizes it, as he slips his reading glasses on, “and he isn't going anywhere for a while.”

“For a while,” the blonde echoes him, leaning in and casting her shadow over Newt’s keyboard as she parts her lips once more, “what about when the case is over and he stops comin’? What’re you gonna do, hmm?”

The soft clicks of fingertips against the keyboard stop suddenly. Newt’s eyes slowly find Queenie’s face, and she looks as though she knows something she very well shouldn't - almost as if she can read Newt’s mind, and experience his feelings.

“What do you mean,” Newt asks, softer than he’d meant to, “what am I going to do?”

“Oh, Newt,” responds Queenie, just as softly in tone, “Honey, you care about that boy so much. You miss him right now, I can see it. You two might ‘s well be joined at the hip.” Reaching forward, she rests her hand on top of his, her polished pink nails brushing like a ghost over his flesh. “Those kinda feelin’s don't just go away.”

For what must be the first time since his mother passed, Newt feels his emotional fortress dropping. He stares at Queenie with wide eyes, and she stares back, as though through the pools of green, she can see his soul with a clarity not even he knows. Then, as their eye contact is severed, a fleeting sigh sweeps past Newt’s nostrils and he takes shelter behind his walls once more. He can feel it, though. Queenie’s still looking at him.

“Of course I care about him,” says Newt, after a tense silence, “all this time I’ve spent with him, learning about him, about his story - how couldn't I? Just because our case will end, doesn't mean he'll go away, does it? And if he does, well … at least I’ll have been a part of something great. Great, I hope.”

Raising a caramel-coloured brow, Queenie doesn't take her eyes off Newt. But she does smile, as she taps her fingers along his knuckles. “I hope so, too.”

* * *

“Credence?”

The gentle tone catches him off guard, and therefore despite its softness, causes him to flinch. He sets down the drawing of a lovely pink dragon that one of the little boys had gifted him, and turns his eyes toward the direction of the voice, which belonged to one of the daycare instructors.

“Ah, y-yes, Ms. Dumbledore?”

The woman pulls up a chair, sitting rather close to him. Her eyes are twinkling curiously, lips puckered as though the words she’s about to speak are too sweet for her mouth to hold much longer. “Oh, Credence, how many times have I asked you to call me Ariana? Hm?”

“O-Oh, right,” he whispers guiltily, apology softening his already-muted eyes.

“It’s quite alright, I know you're used to it,” Ariana assures him, blue eyes crinkling with amusement, “but that's beyond the point. I wanted to ask you, Credence - who exactly was that bloke you came in here with, the other day? He didn't stay long, but it almost looked like he was walking you in?” Her lashes are fluttering with interest, and Credence immediately knows what she is thinking.

Blushing wildly, the student falters, shaking his head. “Oh n-no, no Ms. D- ah, A-Ariana. It’s nothing l-like that- he’s my lawyer. He was just walking me in b-because I stayed at the firm late.”

“ _Oh,_ I see,” she claims, but she's still smiling in the same sly way, “Mr. Scamander, is he? I’m familiar with him. My older brother taught him at Oxford.”

“Oxford?” Credence asks, face bright with surprise, “Newt went to Oxford?”

“Sure he did,” says Ariana, head tilting in a manner close to confusion, “surely you knew that, if you hired him?”

“No,” Credence admits, rubbing self-consciously at his nape, “I didn’t really look into anything like that. It just - It seemed as though he was the one who could really help me. I didn’t really care about where he’d studied. But that _is_ really impressive.” Certainly, anyone else would have boasted their Oxford degree, or had it framed in gold at the centermost wall of the office. But not Newt, no - Credence knows better to expect that sort of display from the humble man.

Ariana’s eyes are trained on him with acute interest, but she doesn’t say anything further on the topic. She only stands from where she’d nearly cornered Credence and clicks her tongue, humming an oblique, “Interesting …” before sauntering away. Credence lacks ample time to stare confusedly at her silhouette, as one of the few children who hadn’t yet been picked up tugs on his sleeve in request of his attention.

“Tom,” Credence addresses, voice delicate as always while the dark-haired child persists in pulling at the fabric shrouding the assistant’s wrist, “You really shouldn’t be so close to me. Didn’t I tell you that I’m still a little bit sick?”

“Credence,” says Tom, ignoring his warning, “there’s a man standing in the lobby asking for you.”

Brows drawing near to each other in a puzzled furrow, Credence pulls himself up from his seat and wonders the whole way to the lobby just who would be dropping in to see him so late in the afternoon. It can’t be Newt or Jacob - surely they’re busy at the firm - and he can’t conceive any other male in his life that would so much as even think to visit him, unannounced.

Timorous footsteps carrying him to his destination, his confusion only worsens as he meets the stygian silhouette of an utter stranger; though the man isn’t facing him, Credence can tell they aren’t familiar. His aura is unknown, and the jet-black hair seasoned with salty white streaks brings no hint of acquaintance. Swallowing hard in his already aching throat, Credence gathers every morsel of his voice and wills it not to tremble as best he can. “Excuse me? I was told you were looking for me?”

With the silence’s fragmentation, the dark figure cranes his neck backwards, a pair of cold, sable eyes greeting him with the gesture. An undeniable fright lashes at Credence’s spine, but he hides it rather well, aside from the way he cowers closer to the door frame in the intimidating presence. The emotionless face of the stranger morphs to display a cunning smile, the flatness formerly exhibited by his eyes brightening to a twinkle of the same variety.

“You’re Credence,” he finally speaks, lips still bowed into a crafty smile, “forgive me for dropping in without an invitation. I just had to meet you in person.”

The student is anchored to his spot at the door frame, eyes trained on the nameless man as though he had a bomb strapped to his chest. Another person claiming to have such interest in him, let alone a person he doesn’t know _at all_ , is rather alarming - considering most people pass him by without a second or third glance. Credence isn’t at all a person that stands out, in his own eyes - so it’s unreasonable for someone to approach him this way.

“I … who are you, exactly?” He forces past the lump in his throat, taking half a step back once he notices the man getting closer, “I don’t think we’ve met before.”

“Oh, right,” the man coos, “you’ll have to excuse my eagerness. You see, I’ve heard so much about you, Credence. It feels like I know you already … I’ve forgotten that the same isn’t true for you.” Leather-clad fingers extend to pry the glove from the stranger’s right hand, which he proceeds to formally extend toward Credence. “Percival Graves.”

Credence’s prior fear is dwarfed by what he feels now. His head, clouded by not only his sickness, but now memories of everything he’d been told about the character before him, pulses uncomfortably. His lips purse - everything makes sense now. His cold demeanor, his unconventional interest in Credence - of course it would be Graves. How could it have been anyone else?

Not wanting to be rude, the student sucks in a deep breath, reaching forward to shake the hand offered to him with a wordless nod. Surely those gloves are expensive and well-insulated, Credence thinks. Yet still the older man’s hand is _gelid_.

“Mr. Graves,” Credence murmurs, taking his hand back almost immediately, “I- What are you doing here?”

“I told you, my boy,” answers the older man, almost immediately, “I had to meet you for myself. Hearing all about you has only fed my curiosity - surely you hadn’t expected me to wait until the day of the _trial_ to see you in person?”

He doesn’t even think to admit that he was hoping they’d never meet at all. He only looks down at the other’s polished shoes, shrugging mutely. “I didn’t … think it was that important …”

“Not important? Oh, no, Credence,” says Graves, leaning closer to the young man, whose body appears in an attempt to shrink in on itself. “It’s important to me. I don’t have that great of an imagination, you see … I like things to be factual - concrete, if you will. I prefer the _real deal_ to any figment the mind can produce. Besides,” a tiny gasp attests to Credence’s surprise as Graves’ arm wraps around his slumped shoulders, “you may not believe it yet, but _you’re_ important to me, Credence. I know we’re on opposite sides, here, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends, does it?”

“I don’t … I’m fairly certain my mother wouldn’t like that. You’re her attorney, aren’t you?”

“You don’t miss a thing,” Graves laughs, clapping Credence’s shoulder a few times, consequently drawing a parched cough from the student. “It’s true, I do work for your mother - but that’s all it is, Credence. Business. A case comes walking into my office and I see it as an endeavour - a job. Hardly more than that. People have to carry their weight in this world, don’t they?”

“... Yes,” Credence responds, albeit hesitantly.

“I know all about your mother’s intentions, Credence. She can be quite ruthless … I’m sure you know even better than I do.”

Whether it’s sickness or anxiety, Credence is suddenly struggling to breathe. He’s hyper-aware of everything around him, and Graves’ grip on his shoulder suddenly feels unbearably tight. He only nods, untrusting of himself to speak solidly.

“And, well … let’s just say, she’s enlisted me for a reason. I’d really hate to see you get hurt, Credence. You ought to back out and take what you can get, before things escalate to something beyond what you can handle.” The cordial mask Graves had previously worn is gone, and his face is frigid with a condescending solemnity.

No words fill the uncomfortable silence that encompasses them. It lasts for nearly half a minute, and not for half a second of that time does Graves’ gaze lift from Credence’s face, despite the fact that the student isn’t at all looking at him.

He’s really considering it. All of this could be over. He could get at least some of the money he needs, and go on about his boring life - he’ll only need to stretch himself between two jobs and school for seven and a half more years before he can acquire his doctorate and become something he doesn’t exactly want to be, but can contribute something meaningful to the world as, and not be dirt poor and worthless on top of that. Wasn’t that what he was going to do before initiating any of this? Really, what was he thinking?

_“And everything you’ve been through, Credence, will make you stronger, too.”_

That tender voice at the hearth of his mind anchors Credence in the resolve to which its bearer had lead him. It’s not simply about money anymore - perhaps it never had been. Despite his many fears and anxieties, the case has undeniably given him irreplaceable gifts in Newt, Jacob, Queenie, and Tina. He has no business quitting on them, nor _himself_ , when they’ve done nothing but give him everything and more. The least he can do is show them that their efforts haven’t been, and won’t be, for nothing.

“I can’t do that, Mr. Graves,” Credence tells him, raising his head to meet his eyes. It’s clear, now, that they’re nearly the same height.

The attorney’s brows raise, as if to challenge Credence’s words. “And why is that?”

Inhaling deeply, Credence focuses on Newt’s voice in the back of his head. “Because I’ve promised someone I wouldn’t. I promised him that I was in this all the way, and I will be.”

One thick brow lowers, but the other remains provocatively lifted. “Is that so?”

“Yes. Yes, it is.” Despite feeling nauseated by his own anxiety, Credence manages not to choke on his words this time. And he’s damn proud of himself for at least that much.

Suddenly, Graves’ arm is gone. The shadowy figure withdraws himself from Credence’s personal space, and the younger man feels like he can breathe a little easier, now. The attorney stands before Credence for a few beats, however - listless face studying him as though he were made of paper, with a match right over his head.

“Scamander told me to stay away from you, you know,” Graves informs Credence, lids draping boredly over his eyes. “He thinks you’re spineless. That you’d do whatever I asked of you.”

Credence closes his eyes as though he’s been stung. He tells himself that’s not true - he can’t even hear Newt saying anything remotely close to that. But he remembers being concerned that Newt thought of him that way - that insecurity, though it had been dwindling, begins to grow once more. Breathing in, he shakes his head, eyes remaining shut. “He wouldn’t think like that.”

He hears an amused puff of air ripple past Graves’ nostrils, and he can see his lordly expression against his eyelids. Unlike Graves, Credence is very imaginative.

“You’re sure.”

It doesn’t sound like a question, and this unsettles Credence even more. The student’s eyes open in enough time to see Graves slip his hand back into his glove, before turning on his heel to leave. He pushes open the door, the surge of cold air seeming not to faze him at all. “The offer still stands, for when you change your mind.” The slam of the front entrance punctuates his statement.

Credence sneezes loudly.

* * *

“You’re doing _what,_ Newton?”

The younger Scamander sighs as his brother nearly spills scalding hot tea all over his desk. He barely manages to hold it together by the last salvageable second, and sets his mug down, out of his wingspan. “Have you completely lost your mind? What makes you think this is a good idea? Where is this coming from?”

Normally, Theseus wouldn’t ask so many questions - mostly due to the fact that Newt usually fills him in better than he has been in the last month. Not that he’s been intentionally keeping his brother and business partner in the dark, but he’s thrown himself into this case entirely, and anyone who isn’t directly involved (or as nosy as Queenie) hasn’t gotten much a detail out of him as a result. He’s barely seen his brother the last month, now that he thinks about it - which is rather surprising, considering his office is just on the other side of the firm.

“It’s already done, Theseus. Trust me, I know I can be a little … reckless, sometimes, but this isn’t anything like that. Tina and I have found so much evidence that Credence has been abused by Mary Lou, and he’s even said it himself! Don’t you think something ought to be done about that?”

“Well, of course I do,” says the darker-haired brother, sighing nonetheless, “I just wish you’d kept me up to date about the actual _case_ . You’ve told me so much about Credence, but aside from that, you’re waist-deep in this suit. I haven’t seen you this truly _passionate_ about anything since …” He pauses, licking his lips. Newt already knows what Theseus nearly alluded to - even if he hadn’t suddenly stopped, it would have been obvious that he was going to bring up Newt’s time as his mother’s apprentice.

“I know, and I’m sorry,” Newt tells him, and honestly so. “It’s just … I really feel like I can actually _help_ Credence. In a way I haven’t helped anyone before.”

“Oh, Newt, don’t say that,” Theseus murmurs, sitting up in his chair, “you’ve helped plenty of people.”

Sighing out a breath unintentionally held, Newt shakes his head. “Not like this.”

Blue eyes gleam curiously at his brother’s tenacity. Theseus had always known Newt could be zealous when his heart is in something, but this particular case is the last place he’d expect to see that rare spark reignited. He wonders what about Credence has his brother so lionhearted.

Just as he’s ready to ask, his office door opens and Jacob is standing at the threshold, with the celebrity of the hour in tow.

“Ah, there he is. See, Credence, I told you he’d be here,” Jacob says, and the youngest male of the four looks relieved.

Newt blinks, as does Theseus. Credence notices, then, that they’re irrefutably brothers.

“Jacob,” Theseus starts, raising a brow, “care to knock next time around?”

“Oof - Sorry, Theseus,” Jacob chuckles, suddenly embarrassed, “it’s just - Credence here was kinda freakin’ out, asking where Newt here was, so it was sort of urgent.”

“Freaking out?” Newt echoes, turning in his chair to see the blushing Credence staring distantly away from him, “What ever for? What’s going on?”

With the gentlest, but most reassuring pat to his back from Jacob, who promptly leaves and shuts the door behind him, the student visibly draws in a deep breath, and pushes his way past the now-blocked doorway. “I’m so, so sorry to bother you, and to come in without calling first - b-but … but something happened and I had to tell you and I had to tell you in person, I just -”

“Hey, hey - Credence, calm down.” Newt stands, gently settling his hands on the younger man’s shoulders. “Relax, alright? Take a deep breath, then tell me what you need to tell me.”

Seemingly the moment Newt touches him, Credence feels an indescribable sense of peace settle over him. It doesn’t happen immediately - but he registers the tug from anxiety - the same anxiety that had him trembling all the way here - to a relatively collected state of mind. It was like being pulled to safety from a raging fire - the experience still sits restlessly in his mind, but he feels … safe.

“I just … came from work. At the YMCA,” he explains, licking his lips, “just as I was cleaning up … someone dropped in to visit me.”

Newt watches Credence’s lips intently, telling himself it’s just because the younger male is talking. His eyes flicker up to meet Credence’s, however, at the mention of a visitor. “And who was that?”

Credence nervously brushes stray waves from his face, breaking eye contact with Newt. “It was … Percival Graves.”

The younger Scamander’s expression looks as though the wind has suddenly been knocked out of him. His eyes are wide, lips parted dumbly - a thousand questions race through his mind, though the only one he manages to vocalize is the simplest, “Why?”

Theseus holds his breath from behind his desk, pressing his lips tightly together as the atmosphere weighs with tension.

“He said he was interested in meeting me in person, after all Ma had told him,” explains a flustered Credence, “but … mostly, he was trying to talk me into taking the settlement.”

“Of bloody course he was,” Newt curses, exhaling, “what did he say to you? Did he simply ask?”

“No,” Credence admits, shoulders lowering, “he … never asked, actually. He told me that he was worried for me … or, something like that. I can’t really remember,” he lies, not wanting to recall the exchange in full.

Newt’s eyes narrow, and his lips form something of a pout. “He tried to manipulate you … Theseus was right.”

“Yes … and I can assure you, he isn’t worried about you, Credence,” Theseus says, standing from his seat and joining his brother, and his brother’s client, “he isn’t worried about anything but winning. I’ll bet you Mary Lou’s promised him a hearty reward if he gets you to back off. Don’t do it. Graves is a smooth-talker and he’ll tell you whatever you want to hear to get what he wants out of you. He’ll use your feelings as a weakness against you. It’s why I’m not one bit surprised your mother picked him to defend her.”

Listening intently, Credence nods his comprehension of Theseus’ words. “He said he only thinks of it as business … but he and Ma are both ruthless. He … He scared me something fierce.”

Newt smiles woefully at the dark-haired boy, attempting to lighten the mood, “Hey now, Credence, don’t you be scared of him. I said I’d protect you, remember? Don’t even worry about Graves. Leave him to me.”

Credence’s eyes are latched to Newt’s, his lips open in an image of utter amazement, and irises glittering with esteem for the man’s boundless kindness.

Theseus looks between the student and his own brother, a curious flicker in his eyes. Dragging his tongue pensively over his lips, he focuses on Credence. “Graves wasn’t always the way he is now. He and I were very close, a little while ago. But he’s changed. He became the way he is because he figured the only way he could be a great lawyer was to not care about anything or anyone, and to do whatever he could to win. He’s damn good at the game he plays, but he’s missing one thing my little brother’s got plenty of.” Hooking an arm around Newt’s neck, the elder Scamander brings the aforementioned attorney in close, to the bronze-haired man’s incredulity.

Credence watches curiously, unable to help the tiniest of smiles that barely curves his lips. “And what’s that?”

The brunette uses his free hand to clap his brother on the chest, laughing good-humouredly as he answers, “Heart!” through Newt’s subsequent coughing.

“Do that again and I’ll be going up against Graves from the hospital,” Newt groans, drawing more laughs from his brother. Something flutters in his chest. He hasn’t felt this close to Theseus since they were kids. And the way Credence is smiling (albeit, barely - but a smile is a smile) only has the fluttering turn to full-on palpitations.

“By the way, Credence,” Theseus starts, letting Newt go, “it’s nice to finally get to meet you.”

Bowing his head bashfully, Credence tucks sable curls behind his ear, “Likewise, Mr. Scamander.”

* * *

Credence ended up staying at the firm all afternoon, and into the early evening. It had become a safe place, or perhaps even _more_ of one than it had been before, and while logically there were plenty of reasons for him to leave, the tenderness in his chest coaxed him easily in to staying another few hours. He’d enjoyed Queenie’s banter - glad to see that she was her normal self again, and had seemed to push past the trauma of losing an unborn child just as Newt had predicted she would. Really, the woman is an inspiration to Credence, who hopes to adopt at least a fraction of her resilience.

Not to disregard the genesis of his serenity. Newt appears so blissfully unaware of his effect on Credence; the ease with which he parouses the student’s files while addressing him as an equal holds unreasonable power over the youth’s heart. Credence had never met a person he felt genuinely safe around, but that changed with Newt. It changed the minute he set foot in the firm, and was encompassed in a forcefield of real love, endlessly offered by people he doesn’t deserve to know.

He’s certain nothing Percival Graves can do will be more powerful than that.

Testament to Newt’s benevolence, he’d insisted on accompanying Credence home. The diffident student attempted to exhort him not to, of course, feeling Newt shouldn’t waste time or money on a subway ticket just to take him back to his modest apartment in the city. But, of course, Newt could not be convinced once his mind was made up. And so they rode the subway in comfortable silence, aside from a few points of small talk initiated by either one of them.

Credence felt like he was sitting beside an angel the entire way.

“It’s a little bit funny,” mumbles Credence, as they enter his apartment building, “I’ve known you all this time, but I hardly know anything about you. About your life, at least,” he corrects himself, for it’s simply untrue to say he doesn’t know much about Newt’s personality, or even his appearance. He fumbles with his sleeves as they enter the elevator alone, daring to add, “just today I learned that you’re an Oxford man.”

Brows raising, Newt laughs warmly. “Really? How did you figure it out? The diplomas hanging in my office would be my best guess.”

“No,” Credence admits, feeling his face warming up, “to be honest, I’d never noticed them. Someone told me - my boss, actually.”

Humourously perplexed, Newt chuckles as his brows furrow in confusion, “Oh? What does your boss know about Oxford? Or, me, I should ask?”

“She says her brother taught you,” says Credence, nervously adjusting his hair, “her name is Ariana Dumbledore, if that rings any bells. She isn’t married, so I’d guess her surname’s the same as -”

“Dumbledore,” Newt exhales, disbelievingly, “Albus Dumbledore … he was my teacher, that’s right. I didn’t know his sister lives in the States … isn’t it a small world?” Dropping the introspective tone, Newt looks at Credence with a wide grin, “But, yes. Professor Dumbledore was my favourite teacher - the best I’ve ever had. He made me love the Law, as much as I didn’t even want to be a lawyer coming in.”

“... You … didn’t want to be a lawyer?” Credence asks him, and his voice is a whisper.

The copper-haired attorney blinks at him, eyes glittering with a distant, but strong emotion. “Not always,” he admits, licking his lips. “I wanted to be a zoologist, like my mother. I loved animals. I still do, honestly. And my mother always made it seem like the greatest job in the whole world, she was just so happy, all the time.”

“A zoologist … that’s a lot different from a lawyer. What made you change your mind?” He doesn’t even notice how comfortable he’s gotten, enough to ask such relatively personal questions. The elevator doors open as they reach Credence’s floor, and a woman waiting to board the lift eyes them quizzically. Smiling politely, Newt takes Credence tenderly by the arm and leads him out of the woman’s way, somehow never breaking eye contact with him. Credence blushes, forgetting he’d even asked a question.

“My mother passed away,” he finally says after a brief silence, breaking eye contact. “When I was about seventeen years old, she’d gone off to work one morning and never came home. She’d gotten into an awful car accident, in which two other people lost their lives … it was devastating.” His voice is quiet, and Credence can tell it’s something he doesn’t talk about often, or perhaps hasn’t told many other people. The student feels his heart crumbling, in his acute awareness that Newt won’t look at him - but also with the unmistakable pain in his voice. Twelve years ago, and he knows it doesn’t hurt a day less.

“Newt …” Credence whispers, voice barely present, “I’m so sorry …”

Clearing his throat mutely, Newt shakes his head. “Don’t be. It was a long time ago - besides, there’s nothing anyone could have done to stop it. Either way, I was nearly out of high school at the time, and I had my heart set on being a zoologist. But after that … so much as thinking about caring for animals made me sick with sadness. I didn’t have time to wait for it to go away, you see - my father wanted to send me off to University as soon as possible. My brother had already made a decision to follow in my father’s footsteps, to be a great lawyer, just like he had been before he retired. So, I decided that’s what I would do, too.”

Struggling to find appropriate words to say, Credence’s throat is thick with a lump. Before he can even organize his thoughts, he realizes they’re coming up on his apartment. “Ah - hold on. This is my apartment.” He says, gesturing toward a door no different from any other in the massive hall, aside from the unique number ‘679’ inscribed in black upon its beige surface.

“Oh,” Newt breathes, sounding somewhat disappointed. “Right, well - I suppose I should head off, then.”

Credence pulls his lanier from his pocket, sifting through his few keys before he bites his lip. “Well - I … you don’t have to …” huffing, he tries again. “Would you like to come inside?”

Evidently surprised, Newt’s lashes flutter. However, a bright, beautiful smile forms along his petal pink lips and Credence thinks he might actually go into cardiac arrest, right then.

“I would love to.”

* * *

Suddenly, the student is more than thankful he’d decided to clean up a little before leaving for work. Though surely he hadn’t planned on more than coming home and nursing the remaining sliver of his flu, perhaps the universe had been looking out for him for once. Pulling a lighter from his pocket, he ignites the candle by the door and takes half a second to appreciate its lavender scent, wafting into the air. “I know it’s a bit more effort,” he explains, coasting about the room to light the rest, “but I tend to use candles more than any of the lights. I do keep bulbs in them, though, just in case I’m in a rush.”

As the room comes to luminosity with each burning wick, Newt looks around, admiring the simplicity and quaintness surrounding him. It’s … Credence. Every corner of the room is Credence. It smells like him, and its aesthetic suits him perfectly. It’s just as Newt had expected, in many ways. “That’s quite alright,” Newt tells him, stepping inside fully instead of awkwardly standing by the door frame, “I think that’s quite clever of you, actually. Your electric bill must be beautiful.”

“Well,” Credence hums, “It’s a little more than just that. It’s … calming to me, I guess. Oh - ah - feel free to sit down. Do you want anything to drink, or - I-I’ve only got water. And coffee … tea, too.”

His ears must have perked up near animalistically at the mention of tea, but Newt clears his throat and waves a hand. “You don’t have to go to the trouble,” the attorney starts, but Credence shakes his head.

“It’s no trouble at all,” says Credence, already making his way toward his tiny kitchen, “Is it tea that you want? What kind? I’ve got Chamomile, orange, lemon, Earl Grey …” He’s sifting through the cabinet over the refrigerator as he speaks, before he hears Newt faintly ask for Earl Grey from the next room. Smiling to himself, Credence pulls the box down and gets the kettle started.

All the while, his mind is taken back to all Newt had told him on the way here. Inhaling, he sets the water to boil and reenters the scene. “What you said earlier … about your mother, and about becoming a lawyer even though you wanted to do something else … I can’t stop thinking about it, really. I’ve only just started college, but I’ve pretty much made up my mind that I’ll be an ophthalmologist.”

“A _what_ , now?” Newt asks, cocking a brow. Credence actually chuckles, and Newt consequently smiles at the sight of the boy in a mellow mood.

“It’s an eye doctor, essentially,” he explains, though the trace of a smile that had been there fades relatively quickly. “It’s only …”

“That’s not what you want to do,” Newt finishes for him, staring intensely into his eyes. Lips pursing, Credence nods silently, and Newt nods, too - to show that he understands completely. “But you’re going to do it because it’s the best financial option, and because you _can_ do it, right?”

“Yes,” Credence says softly, looking away. Newt steps forward, taking the boy by the hand and leading him to the sofa a few paces away, sitting him down.

“What do you want to do, Credence?” He asks, and Credence holds his breath.

“... I … I’d love to have my own daycare,” he says softly, eyes full of yearning, “Or to have a place children can come, where they feel safe. Where I can take care of them. I would love that.”

The way Credence’s eyes are bright and dreamlike, Newt almost believes the student’s never been hurt a day in his life. The splendor captured by his features is strikingly pure, which serves as a reminder that some people choose to love even after being endlessly torn apart. And Credence, in all of his unrealized beauty, is one of them.

“Do it,” Newt tells him, voice soft but unignorably strong.

“What?” Credence asks, lips barely moving with the utterance, and eyes trained on Newt’s face like he’d turn to dust if he looked away. His heart is hammering in his chest, and his every nerve ending sings where Newt’s hand touches his.

“Those children deserve someone who will love them as much as you will, Credence,” says Newt, scooting closer to him. “Think about it. Think about how you’ve lived your life up to this point. You’ve given up your dreams enough, haven’t you?”

“Newt …” he whispers, breaths stuttering past the sudden thickness of his throat.

“I want you to be happy. Don’t you want to be happy, Credence?”

“I do,” Credence answers, without a moment’s hesitation. “But … I don’t know. I can’t just change everything.”

“Why can’t you?” Newt asks, “surely not all at once, you can’t - but you _can_ , Credence. You can change everything. You can be happy, and you deserve to be.”

Credence is surprised his heart hasn’t leapt from his chest at this point. He realizes, now - surer now than he’d been before, that Graves was wrong. Newt doesn’t think he’s weak … Newt has faith in him.

Maybe, then, he can learn to have faith in himself.

The kettle whistles from the kitchen, shocking Credence out of the warm reverie Newt’s caught him in. Reluctantly, the student slips away from the affectionate touch and makes a beeline for the little room, sectioned off by a wall.

A wall, which, once he’s behind it, Credence just about melts to a puddle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aah, these dorks. 
> 
> also, yes, ariana dumbledore is alive because i can. everyone seems to characterize her as a delicate flower but to me, if she's dumbledore's sister she's gotta be just as sassy as he is, i mean it only makes sense. 
> 
> and listen, when i tell you i wanted to fight graves while writing the scene he was introduced in, it's an understatement. but i've got plans for him so, you might be surprised where the story goes. ;) 
> 
> thank you so much to all of you who've been reading and commenting. it's assuring to know some people are enjoying the story. <3


	6. Chapter Five.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it took so long to get this chapter out. i just. suck. kdjjfkjhfv
> 
> no seriously i was out of town with my family and school and depression and writer's block, so. you know. but!!! the chapter is here so ye.

“Newt, honey,” Queenie begins, sauntering her way into the lawyer’s office seemingly as soon as he sits down, “d’you know if Credence is religious? It don’t matter to me if he celebrates Christmas, I wanna get him a present for the holiday season.”

The query prompts Newt to think back to Credence’s file, trying to remember if it had specified any religious affiliations, or if Credence himself had ever spelled it out for him. Religion never came up between them, interestingly enough - though Newt is sure Credence can tell of his own beliefs by the Christmas tree that’s been erected in his office since late November. “I know he was raised strictly Catholic,” says Newt, rubbing his eyes, which maintain a hint of grogginess from how late he’d been up the prior night, “but I highly doubt he still is. He didn’t have a Christmas tree, or any decorations in his apartment, so -”

“When did you go to his apartment?” Asks Queenie, eyebrows raised high.

Pursing his lips, Newt averts his gaze. “Last night,” he finally answers, and Queenie just about springs up to the ceiling.

“Oh, last night! What were you doin’ there, huh, _Mr. Scamander?_ ” She interrogates, leaning over a chair at the fore of her boss’ desk. Her excitement electrifies the room more than any of the light fixtures could aspire.

Groaning, the attorney rolls his eyes and opens his laptop, “ _Not_ what you’re thinking … or hoping, perhaps. I wanted to see to it he got home safely, and being the gentleman he is, he invited me inside for tea.”

“And you stayed there late, didn’t you? That’s why you look so tired!” She theorizes, perfectly correctly to Newt’s dismay. Surely of course, he doesn’t have to admit to said correctness, nor add that even once he’d returned to his own home, he laid awake in bed, thinking of his dark-haired and dark-eyed client.

“Listen, Queenie,” he huffs, ardently changing the subject, “If you’re so curious about his religious beliefs, just ask him in person. I’m certain he’d tell you - and even if he turns out to have none, you don’t need an excuse to get him a present.”

Pouting her painted lips, Queenie’s cornflower blue eyes shimmer knowingly at her friend. Nevertheless, she relents with him, for now. “You’re right,” she says, after a dramatic pause, “still, I didn’t want it to seem inappropriate. I don’t think he’s Jewish - he didn’t have a menorah, did he?”

“Not that I saw,” Newt exhales, though he promptly starts to chuckle fondly. “He does quite fancy candles, though.”

Smirking, Queenie hums and flicks at one of the ornaments on Newt’s office tree. “You should invite him to our holiday dinner, y’know. It’s been just the five of us for a while, but I think we got room for one more.”

“Ah,” Newt starts, as though he hadn’t been thinking about exactly that for the past few weeks, “that’s not a bad idea. I’ll ask him about it when he comes.”

“Don’t forget,” says Queenie, clicking her tongue, “it’d be best if he was invited by you.”

“Why’s that?” the attorney asks, cocking a brow, “It’s your house, isn't it?”

“Well sure it is,” the secretary answers, rolling her eyes, “but he'd be _your_ guest. Ain't no secret he likes you most; don't worry, I’m not offended.” Queenie winks at Newt’s bewildered expression, strutting back toward the door. “Oh!” She exclaims, appearing to have remembered a vital piece of information as she pivots on her heel to face Newt once more, “Jacob and I might have y'all come an hour or so earlier than usual. It’s s’posed to snow real bad that weekend, and I don't want y'all out and about in the nasty weather.”

Newt chuckles, diligently filling out a report all the while, “Good on you. Credence doesn't drive at all, so I’d be bringing him along with me.” He registers this as he says it - chest tightening at the thought of being alone in a car with Credence for the first time. They had taken the subway together a few times, sure - but other people had been around, thus limiting the atmosphere for intimate conversation, added to the fact that a car is far more of an enclosed space. Kneading his lips into a line, his eyes flicker up at Queenie, who is unabashedly staring at him with that annoyingly aware sparkle in her bright blue eyes.

“Sure thing, sugar.”

* * *

Working the day shift at the restaurant is nearly unbearable. Credence, by far, prefers the dinner crowd to the lunch folk - the latter are so much louder and more demanding to their evening counterparts, and he finds it unnerving on many levels to attempt to serve them to their expectations. However, with his seasonal holiday in full-tow, he figured he could spend time usually set aside for class and studying at work, in hopes of better pay, and maybe even a few extra dollars in his pocket. The only issue is that nearly everyone tries to squeeze in a few extra days right before Christmas to do last minute shopping, so acquiring good hours is kin to finding the holy grail.

Being that he doesn’t observe the holiday, he’s considering picking up for Christmas Eve, or perhaps even Christmas Day; but he hadn’t yet gotten the chance to actually look at the schedule and see what exactly is available. Truthfully, he hadn’t gotten the chance to do much of anything today - he can’t focus at all. At his worst, he’d almost dropped a wine glass in the kitchen.

Who orders wine at three p.m., anyway?

As per usual, his mind is flooded with Newt, but today is much more intense than any other had been. Credence can’t exactly understand _why_ , though - sure, Newt had been in his apartment, drank his tea (and called it _splendid_ , on top of that), and engaged in what had been their most personal conversation yet … but that’s _hardly_ a reason for the world itself to feel so surreal, isn’t it?

Nevertheless, he can’t get it off his mind. He’d learned so much about Newt in those few hours, and though he’d kept his own background relatively private, he hadn’t wanted to. Albeit, his attorney seemed content to ask him how his exams had gone, how work was going, and other small, like details. And for once, Credence had been glad to share - though he wished he could have said so much more. There still stands a defensive wall for him to cower behind, to his own frustration.

“Hey, Credence,” he hears upon entering the kitchen, eyes falling upon the voice’s owner. One of the cooks approaches him, pulling off an oven mitt she’d been wearing and touching the back of her hand to his cheek. “You alright, kid? You’re red as a tomato.”

Flinching at the unexpected contact, Credence manages to keep himself from yelping before nodding his head. “Oh, I’m fine - just kind of warm, I guess.”

“You sure?” she asks, cocking her head to a side, “I’ve got some aspirin in my purse if you need it.”

“I’m sure,” he tells her, barely displaying a timid smile, “thank you, though. That’s awfully kind of you.”

The cook smiles back, shrugging her shoulders as she withdraws her hand, “Wouldn’t want you fainting on the job, sweetie. You’re one of the nicest kids around here - without you, I don’t know if I could stand this place.” She snorts with laughter, but her words go straight through Credence’s chest.

The waiter exhales a shaky, but quiet breath; his lips lopsided in an awkward, yet genuine smile prior to him bowing his head and taking one of the trays waiting to be brought to its designated table.

* * *

“Newt!” Shouts Tina’s voice, the dark-haired woman blazing her way through the firm at a speed and force nearly enough to shake the building’s foundation.

At the sudden commotion, Newt starts, almost dropping his cell phone to the floor as he swivels around in his chair. By that time, Tina has thrown his office door open, Queenie and Jacob hurrying in after her with bewilderment written clearly across their faces. Newt looks similarly to them, evidently taken aback by Tina’s just about violent approach. “What exactly is going on?” He asks, blinking and wide-eyed much like the majority of the employees in the vicinity.

“It’s Credence,” she breathes, appearing to ignore the scrutiny surrounding her, “he’s at the hospital.”

Admittedly, the moment she speaks Credence’s name, Newt zeroes in on that detail, phone slipping out of his hand and crashing against the desk once the investigator punctuates her sentence with the word ‘hospital’. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” she answers, turning back to survey the horrified expressions on her sister’s and brother-in-law’s faces, “I was passing through town on my lunch break and I saw some woman bringing him in. He looked conscious - but when I shouted his name from my car window, he didn’t respond. Then again, New York traffic is so damn crazy, he might not have heard me.”

Before Tina is halfway through her sentence, Newt is yanking his coat off the rack and slipping his shattered phone into his pocket, “I’m going to see him. Who was the woman with him, have you any idea?”

“No,” Tina sighs, following Newt’s long-legged strides as best she can, “never seen her before in my life. Strong-looking lady, though, I’m sure she could’ve tossed him up to the third floor window if she wanted.”

“Oh, my poor baby!” Queenie wails, managing to pass Newt on his way to the door in heels well-over four inches high, “Hurry up, you three, Credence needs us!”

* * *

Credence sits silently atop the stainless white sheets, grimacing toward his casted and braced foot. Violetta had returned to work once the doctor had verified Credence’s state of wellness, which left the younger of the two employees to wait until he had the okay to go home. With nothing but monotonous and hard-to-read posters lining the creamy white walls, the dark-haired boy is entertained by none but his thoughts - muddled with embarrassment and frustration, but namely the former.

Though the door opens slowly and quietly, Credence still finds himself startled by it, and the gentle murmur of his name that filters through the newly-made crack.

“Credence?” It asks again, though its keeper comes into view this time by way of Newt Scamander’s face poking out from behind the door. He blinks, laurel hues shimmering with worry, “Are you alright?”

“Newt,” Credence whispers, blushing abashedly as he tucks dark strands behind his ear, “Yes. I’m fine - I’ve just made a stupid mistake.”

“Oh, Credence, honey!” Queenie calls, pushing past Newt and practically flying toward the boy perched on the bed’s side. Throwing her arms around him, she presses his face to her bosom and kisses the top of his head, “We were so worried about you, darlin’, are you sure you’re okay? What happened?”

Credence’s lips part, but no words come past the newly made opening. Instead, his eyes lift beyond the blockage Queenie’s chest provides his view, and he sees Newt, Jacob, and Tina file into the room, the latter shutting the door behind her. Their eyes are filled with so much care and concern, and Queenie’s embrace with so much warmth, that Credence is rendered speechless. He chokes on the lump in his throat, hopeless to explain anything in that moment, as his eyes fill with tears.

“I-I just -” the boy stammers, trying to ignore the way the older adults in the room look as though they’ve been pricked with spikes at the sight of his tears and whimpering, “I’ve been careless. It’s really nothing, it was an accident. I sl-slipped on ice in the parking lot at work, and fractured my a-ankle.”

“Oh, no …” Queenie coos, rubbing her manicured fingers along his scalp comfortingly. Newt nears the bed, too, and places his hand on Credence’s shoulder.

“Who brought you here?” he asks, watching Credence carefully as he pulls slightly away from Queenie to sit up, and rub at his wet eyes.

“Violetta,” he responds after a brief pause, “she’s one of the cooks at the restaurant where I work.” Credence sniffles, staring down at his lap, no longer able to bear the softness of Newt’s eyes, or that of any person in the room with him, “She was ... on break at the same time as m-me when it happened.”

“It’s just a fractured ankle?” Tina asks softly, perhaps having noticed the bit of bandaging peeking out beneath the hem of Credence’s shirt.

Sighing, Credence shakes his head. “I bruised up my side pretty badly … but that won’t take nearly as long to heal as my ankle.”

“Oh, Credence …” huffs Queenie, looking at him maternally, “you really oughta be more careful, honey! Thank goodness you’ll be alright, and someone was there to help you - God knows what mighta happened otherwise!”

“I know …” murmurs an embarrassed Credence, “I guess I just … wasn’t focusing. I’ve had trouble focusing all day, really. I think I just need to go home and rest for a little while.”

“A few days is more like it,” says Newt, somewhat sternly, at least for his standards, “since this has happened at your job, I’m assuming they’ll be compensating you for any time off you might need?”

“Uh, Newt,” Jacob whispers, tugging at his friends arm from a bit of distance, “don’t you think another lawsuit is the _last thing_ Credence needs right now?”

“Oh, no, really -” Credence says quickly, “my boss has already agreed to pay me for any days I miss in my recovery. And Mis-- _Ariana_ has already spoken with me. She said not to worry about it, but … still, I feel awfully stupid. This is my fault.”

“It’s not,” Tina tells him flatly. “You can’t control the weather, can you? Don’t blame yourself, Credence.” Her last statement is spoken rather softly, which Credence feels in his chest.

“Teenie’s right, honey,” says Queenie, “accidents happen! You just focus all your energy on getting better, you hear?”

“But what about the case?” Credence asks, before he even thinks about it.

Newt’s eyes widen, and he looks at Queenie and Tina for half a moment before his gaze returns to Credence. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll come to you instead of you coming to the firm. That way you won’t have to strain yourself. Just until you’re up to making the trip, you know?”

“Newt, you don’t have to do that … It’s not that bad an injury, I can -”

“Nonsense,” Newt interrupts, crossing his arms mock-sternly, though his lips are smiling and his eyes are soft, “It’s a lot less trouble for me than it’d be for you.”

Silence claims the air between the five of them for quite a while, until Credence draws in a heavy breath.

“You all are far too kind to me,” he says, licking his lips, “I’m so grateful. I really don’t know what to say.”

“Just say that you’ll take care of yourself,” Newt tells him, smoothing the dark-haired boy’s tresses behind his ear for him, “that’s all we’d ever ask of you, right now.”  

“That’s right,” Tina verifies, and Queenie and Jacob seem to nod simultaneously.

Credence closes his eyes tight after that, and nods, subsequently lowering his head. “Okay. I’ll do my best.” His voice trembles.

* * *

“How’s he doing?” Theseus asks, putting out his cigarette as Newt walks by his open office door.

The younger Scamander pauses, blinking wide-eyed before his hand rests mindlessly on the doorframe, form looming at the threshold. Sighing, Newt nods his head, as though confirming it to himself, “He’s doing alright. I just took him home from the hospital, after I dropped the others off here. Wouldn’t leave ‘til I was sure he got in bed.”

Theseus laughs a little, “Good on you, being so caring.”

Shuffling his feet as quietly a possible, Newt’s tongue traces the seam of his lips. “He deserves it. He’s such a good man … It’s alarming he’s spent so much of his life with no one to love him.”

“Not no one,” Theseus starts, smiling near mischievously at Newt’s raised brow, “he’s got siblings, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, two sisters,” Newt mumbles, “Chastity and Modesty. He doesn’t talk about them very much, though, so I wasn’t sure if they’d had a strong relationship.”

“I think they did,” says Theseus, “One of them came by here, while you all were at the hospital with him.”

“One of his sisters?” Newt asks, suddenly acutely alert, “Well … well, which one? What did she come for?”

“Chastity,” Theseus answers, “I thought she was going to rob the place when she came in - she had her face covered, dressed head-to-toe in black. Turns out she just didn’t want anyone to know she came by looking for you. I told her you’d be in tomorrow, if she was available.”

“Did she say anything after that?” Asked Newt, whose face falls at Theseus’ shaking his head.

“Unfortunately not. I tried to push to see if I could get at least a day of the week out of her, but, she pretty much ran out of the place. Something tells me someone’s got an eye on her.”

“I’ll say,” Newt agrees in a troubled whisper, looking down at his shoes. “Something’s definitely not right, there.”

Discomforting thoughts circling his head like hungry vultures, Newt turns toward the direction of his own office and starts the short journey down and across the hall of cubicles, haunted by the monotonous ring of phones and clicks of keyboards. Queenie’s desk is empty, and having noticed in hindsight that Jacob’s had been, too, he concludes the pair must have gone home. Just now checking his watch, he sees it’s past eight at night - shocked to realize he’d spent so much time with Credence without even noticing it. Sighing, he unlocks his office door and sees everything just as he’d left it before bolting out; his laptop is still open, and begging to be charged after being left on so long.

Sighing, the attorney fishes his charger out of a drawer and connects the device to its lifeline. As the screen lights brightly, drowning the dim room in its whitish light, Newt still can’t shake the apprehensive feeling that foul play sits just beyond the horizons of his view.

* * *

Credence bounds down the hall as quickly as he can with his maimed foot, tugging down the hem of his jumper while approaching the door. Drawing in a deep breath, the student is startled when the bell rings again, surging forward to undo the lock and grasp the doorknob. “Good morning,” he greets softly, bowing his head politely to Newt as his dark hair falls freely from its place framing his face.

“G’morning,” responds Newt, smiling fondly toward his client who steps aside to let him in. A brief survey of the simple space allows the attorney to conclude that much everything is still the same as it had been the first time he was here, save for the natural light that pours in through the wide windows, expelling the need for lit candles. He also notices the bleak view of the Manhattan borough Credence acquires from this particular room: the massive skyscrapers appear as thin tyrants from the distance, and one particularly wide building cuts off the inhabitant’s panoramic view of Kips Bay.

“It looks better at night,” Credence tells him quietly, having noticed the older man’s gaze out the window, “when all of the buildings are lit up. The apartments across from here have a better view of the bay, but they cost so much more - I guess I don’t mind living vicariously through them.”

“Oh,” Newt laughs a little, looking at Credence, whose eyes have now focused on the image provided by the slab of glass, as well, “I see. Most people get bored of a view, anyway. It’s so expensive to live here in general, perhaps it’s not really worth it.”

The younger man hums in accordance, and Newt swears he hears a soft sigh wisp past Credence’s nostrils. “So,” the older man begins, clearing his throat some as he sets his briefcase down, “did the doctor say anything more about your ankle?”

“Yes,” Credence answers, guiding Newt toward the couch after taking his coat and suspending it from the rack in the leftmost corner of the room. “She’s confirmed that it’ll take about six weeks to heal entirely, but I can go back to work before then. Maybe after a month or so … I suppose only time will tell.”

“Don’t think too much about work. It’s no use going back just to hurt yourself again,” Newt tells him, sighing worriedly.

“I know, I know,” Credence promises, kneading his lower lip between his teeth as his attorney and friend sits beside him on the sofa, “It’s just … this is such a terrible time to be hurt. I’ve got to keep up with my payments for school, despite it being Winter Break -- I have to pay my rent, keep up with groceries, not to mention that I have to pay you, too. My salary between my two jobs on my own is barely enough to cover most of that, and if I’m not at work, I can’t pick up overtime to make ends meet.” The boy shakes his head, rubbing tiredly at his eyes, “I guess I’ll just have to figure something out. I’ve done it before -”

“I’ll pay for your school,” says Newt surely, “and I’ll pay your rent. You just focus on feeding yourself, and keeping yourself well. Don’t worry about paying me, either.”

Credence looks as though all the breath in his lungs had been forcefully extracted from him. The young man pales, shaking his head vigourously, “O-Oh no, _no_ , Mr. Scamand-- ah, _Newt_ . I can’t let you-- that wouldn’t be appropriate! Please, don’t worry about me, it’s my own responsibility to take care of myself. You’ve already done so many kind things for me, you really shouldn’t-- you don’t have to-- just _don’t_ , really. It’s okay.” Having tripped through his statements like a novice figure skater, the windless boy wheezes at the kindness overload his brain is experiencing; short circuiting like a blown-out race car.

Newt smiles at the younger man, placing both his hands on thin, bowed shoulders and watching the daylight coruscate in Credence’s dark eyes.  “Let me. I want to do this for you, okay? I want to help you. It’s really nothing. In fact, I’ll be glad to do it. I make plenty of money, especially considering that I live alone. You aren’t doing me any harm.”

“B-But …” any words that had been queued in his mind evaporate with the heat of his blushing face. Looking into Newt’s soft eyes, Credence feels some force nudge him closer, whispering that it’s okay - that it’s alright to let someone who cares for him take care of him when he needs it. This new, comforting feeling fights the perpetual guilt rooted deep in his gut, and incapacitates it long enough for the dark-haired boy to purse his lips in attempt to hold his tears, and to nod. “Okay,” he agrees, voice silken with the deepest appreciation, “okay. Yes. I … thank you. Thank you so much, Newt … but, just until I’m able to work again, alright?”

Nodding, Newt’s smile grows once the boy agrees. “Yes, of course. And you’re very welcome, Credence. You’re always welcome.”

Lowering his head, Credence expels a shaky breath. The warmth in him is so new, yet so familiar in the way that he feels as though he’s dreamed about it - been chasing it - his entire life. He feels Newt pull him forward, and feels his head press to the older man’s chest. He lets himself cry, then, despite trying with all his might not to - feeling as though Newt had seen enough of his wet eyes the past few weeks. But that ghostly comfort returns to him, letting him know in the comfortable silence between them that Newt doesn’t mind. And when he feels gentle fingers thread through his hair, he trusts it.

This is perhaps the first time he’s really been truly _held_ , and by someone who cares about him. It feels surreal, and he’s waiting to wake up.

The realization that he, indeed, is among the conscious comes when Newt asks him a question. He waits a while - how long exactly, Credence can’t say with any clarity, but long enough for the boy to stop sniffling, at least.

“Credence,” he begins, still stroking through his client’s hair, “do you still have contact with either of your sisters?”

Surprised at the mention of his siblings, Credence’s eyes open wide and he blinks a few times. After a moment’s hesitation, he nods as best he can with his cheek pressed to Newt’s chest. “Yes. Well - sometimes. When it’s safe … both of them still live with Ma, and surely she looks through any mail that they get. Modesty doesn’t have a phone, but Chastity does, so we communicate through that occasionally. Even then … Ma’s watching over them like a hawk, so it’s hard.”

“Is that so?” asks Newt softly, the rhetorical aspect of the question demanding no answer from Credence. Newt’s jaw tightens at the thought of Mary Lou being so inordinately strict with her daughters, namely when it comes to keeping contact with their own brother. “I asked because your older sister came by the firm, when I was with you at the hospital.”

Both suddenly and reluctantly, Credence sits up and looks at Newt with both shock and confusion. “She did?”

Nodding, Newt explains, “She ran into Theseus, and asked for me. Of course, I wasn’t there - and according to my brother, she nearly ran out of the building. She had her face covered, too.”

Averting his gaze, Credence releases a weighted sigh and runs a hand through his hair. “Of course … if Ma knew she was there, she’d … ah, she probably didn’t want to risk it. I haven’t physically _seen_ Chastity in so long, I can hardly remember what she looks like. But, if you want to get in touch with her, she works at the library downtown. Just … be really careful about it. I’d love to go with you, but it’s … it’s too risky. Ma and Mr. Graves are watching her every move.”

Newt can’t tell if it’s worry, or anger, or a strong concoction of the two - but something tightens his entire body, down to the joints of his bones. How Credence and his sisters had ended up with such a wicked woman for a mother is beyond him, but he won’t let her win. And he certainly won’t bow to Graves. “Don’t worry about it,” he says finally, determination alight in his eyes as he looks at Credence, “I’ll do what I can to keep her safe. All of you, really.”

Swallowing tightly, Credence nods toward Newt, a shadow of a smile forming lightly along his lips. “I really can’t express the gratitude you make me feel.”

Returning the little smile tenfold, Newt’s head cants to a side as his eyes lid slightly. “You don’t have to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not much happened here, i know, unless you count credence busting his ass daydreaming about newt but ,,,, this chapter was more to focus on the relationships between the characters rather than actually progress the plot. 
> 
> also, if anyone can correctly guess credence's religion before the next chapter, i will give u the prize of my endless friendship and several heart emojis. 
> 
> thanks for reading!! <3 xx


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